


Blind Me, I'm Yours

by Cristinuke



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blindfolds, Dom/Sub AU, Dom/sub, Gen, Light Bondage, M/M, Subspace, Trust, dom!Phil, sub!clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Clint and Phil's life in a world where Clint is a sub, and Phil is a Dom, and Clint has an unique relationship with blindfolds, which Phil stumbles onto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beirut

**Author's Note:**

> This story has taken me the better part of a year to post the first chapter, after many rewrites, emails from my beta, and shoving this fic into a closet and pretending it didn't exist. However, it does exist, and it kept coming back to me, so here's to hoping I finally got it right. 
> 
> Beta'd by the ever-amazing and patient [varjohaltija](http://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija)
> 
> Enjoy!

"What the fuck happened out there?!" Coulson never lost his cool during an op, but the clusterfuck that had been spiraling down was making him lose it just a little bit. They had been tracking down an alien artifacts dealer in what was supposed to be a milk run, when they apparently stumbled across something much bigger. His team had been compromised and just when he was about to call them to abort the mission, an explosion took out the mosque where they had been hiding in. As far as Coulson could tell, everyone had survived and all had escaped and made it to their safe houses.

But not before another blast hit one of the agents. Except it hadn't been a normal explosion.

"Agent, report. Now." Coulson rounded on the first agent he saw when he walked through the door of the safe house. He could hear muffled shouting from a room beyond, and he didn't see half of the team anywhere.

The agent, Hernandez, started speaking quickly, "Sir, it was an ambush, and we barely got out. Barton figured it out and called us back, but not before a flash bomb knocked him out, sir."

Coulson winced inwardly. "Barton? Where is he now?"

The agent hesitated before a scream carried through the house. Coulson almost ran to the back room, brushing past Hernandez and barely hearing him explain, "He woke up and started freaking out, sir, we don't know,-"

But Coulson had already entered the room, and suddenly stopped in his tracks. Two of his team were trying to hold down a desperate and violent Barton who was screaming and flailing around, trying to escape their grip. He was in a panic and was lashing out at the third agent that was trying to get close enough with  a needle in hand to sedate him.

"Stop! Now!" Coulson yelled. "Let him go!" The agents momentarily paused at the order, and the hesitation was all Barton needed before he kicked out and twisted himself out of their grip, only to land hard on the floor. He scrambled to one side until he was backed up against one wall, hands out in front and ready to lash out again. It was then that Coulson realized his hands were mitted and bound with cloth and rope, and on his face he had gauze taped to his eyes and wrapped in ripped bandages.

Coulson took note of the way Clint was tense and anxious and very obviously freaked out, and the way the other agents were slowly circling him, ready to pounce again.

"Leave. Everybody leave the room now, I'll deal with it." Coulson was proud at how he kept his voice under control after his brief moment of not being composed. The agents all looked at Coulson with a mixture of looks ranging from 'you're completely mental to go at this alone' to 'I'm not paid enough to deal with this shit', but they all filed out the door silently; the third agent, Rodriguez, pointedly left the needle on the drawer next to Coulson before closing the door behind him. Coulson ignored the needle and turned his attention to Barton who was now desperately trying to take his bandages off, but was still in too much of a panic to successfully remove either the cloth binding his fingers into fists or the gauze-wrapped blindfold.

 Coulson approached slowly, raising his voice slightly, "Hawkeye." Barton was fidgeting worse than ever, and Coulson could see tremors wracking his body and a faint sheen of sweat along his exposed skin on his arms and neck and face.

"Barton." Coulson tried again, but Barton wasn't listening; his head was swerving from left to right, trying to look for something, anything, and his breathing was coming out closer to hyperventilating than Coulson liked. 

"Clint!" Coulson almost shouted. Barton stilled immediately. His face was turned towards his handler, as if he could almost see him through the bandage over his eyes. His was holding his breath and didn't let it out until Coulson said, gently, "Clint, it's me, Coulson. You're in the safe house. The mission went FUBAR, but everyone is okay. You got them out, but in the process you got hit with a flash bomb, which is why you can't see right now." Coulson tried to make his voice as soothing as possible as he inched closer, coming to kneel in front of Barton who was still panting hard. He would have felt bad, under other circumstances, using his Dom voice, but Clint needed to calm down. Coulson didn't have time for ethical ponderings at the moment.

Barton went still for a moment before he shook his head and brought his bound hands up to his eye bandages, viciously trying to take them off, but was stopped short by Coulson's hands on his wrists. Barton startled violently and started thrashing again.

Coulson held the wrists firmly and growled out, "Clint, stop it now. That's an order." Barton stopped his frantic movements immediately, and allowed Coulson to hold on to his wrists.

"It's just me and you in the room now, Clint. Everyone else is in the other room. You're safe, Clint. Mission is over." Coulson stated each fact lowly and calmly, trying to radiate confidence and safety to the panicked archer. He just hoped Clint would understand why he was using everything he had at his disposal, and not hate him for it. Phil needed to calm him down now, and if using his Dom attributes worked, then he wasn't going to explain himself.

Thankfully, but slowly, Barton's breathing eased enough for him to gasp out a broken, "Sir?"

Coulson breathed out, "Yes, Clint. It's me. You're safe now. It's okay." He let his thumbs rub gently over the pulse points on Barton's wrists, and loosened his grip slightly.

"I, I can't open my hands, sir." Barton tensed again as he said it.

Coulson gripped him tight again so that Barton didn't try to escape again, saying, "I know, it's okay, Clint. They're fine, they're just making sure you don't rip off the bandages. You're okay, Clint." Barton's breathing was slowing down, and his body relaxed. He gave a slight nod and focused on his breathing. Coulson resumed his comforting gesture, and relaxed as well. His knees were aching from kneeling in front of Barton, so he gingerly let go of Barton's wrists to push himself up, when Barton lunged forward with a whimper.

"Please don't leave me!" Barton cried out, bumping his bound fists against Coulson's chest. Barton had twisted in a way so that he was half on his knees and half on Coulson, trying to hold on desperately with useless hands. Coulson reacted without thinking and pulled Barton into an embrace, arms going around the petrified agent and pulling him close. Phil should have seen that coming; Barton might be their best operative, but was still a sub and high off of terrified adrenaline. Phil prayed again that Clint wouldn't hate him after this was over.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm not going anywhere. I was just getting into a better position. I'm not going away. I'm staying right here, Clint." Coulson felt Barton bury his head into his shoulder and neck, trying to get closer. Coulson rubbed along Barton's back until he was breathing normally again.

Coulson moved slowly this time, and narrated everything he did for Barton. "It's okay, Clint, I'm just going to sit down against the wall. Here, there you go, like that." Coulson maneuvered them both until Coulson was propped up against the wall, and Barton was half on the wall, half on Coulson, hands wrapped around one of Coulson's arms. His breathing was under control, and his body wasn't so tense. Coulson pulled Barton closer, rubbing his arms and shoulder and everything he could reach, silently cursing the lack of heating in the room. Coulson always hated the winter assignments. Why couldn't they be in the tropics?

Coulson began to unbind the cloth wrapped around Barton's wrists as he continued his narration and reassurances. When one hand was free, Barton immediately reached about and fisted Coulson's jacket, fingers tight on the lapels. Coulson allowed it, and worked on the other hand. When that one was free, Coulson didn't let it stray, but rather kept it in his own hand, and massaged the fingers there. He slowly spread each finger out and rubbed along it, from the palm to the tip of the pads at the end. Barton's breathing slowed down as he leaned into Coulson more. Coulson smiled at the soft groans of appreciation Barton was making. When he was done with the hand, he moved upwards to the wrist and massaged the skin there, smoothing out the faint red lines the rope had caused. When he was satisfied, he gently placed the hand on his thigh, and murmured, "Stay."

Barton breathed out slowly, but otherwise didn't move the hand. Coulson gently pried open Barton's other hand from his jacket, taking the time to uncurl each finger until he was finally massaging out that hand and wrist as well. As he carried out his ministrations, he looked down at the agent; Barton's head was resting against Coulson's shoulder, and his body was angled towards him. His chest was rising and falling in slow beats. The hand that was resting on his thigh was twitching minutely, but he kept it where it was.

"Good. Very good. You're doing well, Clint. You're safe, here." Coulson softly praised him, hoping to keep Clint as calm as possible.

It had shocked him to see Barton so panicked and crazed, when he was used to the joke-cracking smartass that plagued his life. Sub or no sub, Barton was a force to be reckoned with. He should have been talking nonstop, making inappropriate innuendos and flirting around, but he was quiet and still in Coulson's hands now. When Coulson gently placed the hand next the other one, Barton curled his hand against his pants there and pressed himself closer to him. Coulson figured it was a comfort thing, and allowed it, letting his arm curl protectively around his frame. If he could offer what little comfort he could now, Coulson would deal with the repercussions later. 

But it wasn't until he heard Barton whisper out, "please" did Coulson think something was really wrong.

"Barton?" Coulson grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away to look at his bandaged face, and was surprised to see his mouth slack and his expression blank. Barton's head lolled backwards at the movement, and then rolled forwards to hang down. Coulson felt panic starting to rise in his chest.

"Barton? Clint? What's wrong?" At his name, Barton lolled his head up to look in the general direction of Coulson. His expression was totally smoothed out and relaxed.

"Clint, are you okay?" Coulson breathed out, trying to stay calm. Barton's reply was to stretch his mouth into a wide grin. His hands came up blindly and sluggishly started pawing at Coulson, fingers brushing his hands, wrists, arms, and then reaching out to grasp at Coulson's jacket and pants. When one of Clint's hands brushed teasingly across Coulson's crotch, Coulson froze. His breath hitched slightly when the hand began to press down. Breathing in sharply, Coulson tried to push away the unprofessional thoughts he had towards his subordinate. Even if they had been skirting around this for months now, but Coulson was nothing but professional, and he wasn't going to do anything to abuse his power. Especially since Barton was acting so strangely.

Coulson gently grabbed the hand in his groin, and tugged him away, earning a low whine from Barton who reached out with his other hand to find his groin again. Coulson grabbed that hand too and Barton whined softly again when Coulson said, "No." Clint's whine quickly turned into a moan when Coulson shifted to hold both of his wrists in one hand. He looked up at Barton's face to see that his mouth was open wide as he panted slightly, tongue almost lolling out. It was then that Coulson realized Clint wasn't all there.

"Easy, Clint, you're alright." Coulson whispered as he tried to guide Clint's hands down to his own lap. But as soon as Coulson let go, Clint whimpered and reached for him again, hands clumsily catching on his pant legs, and the bottoms of his jacket. Coulson grabbed his wrists again, and speaking over the new moan from Clint, he said, "Come, Clint, let's get you to the bed."

Clint stopped trying to grab at clothes and went limp against Coulson, smile returning to his face. Coulson carefully maneuvered himself away from under Clint, still keeping him propped against the wall, and got up slowly. He still held onto Clint's wrists and then pulled slightly, saying, "Up, Clint." Clint immediately reacted and tried to push himself up but ended up failing at finding his balance. Coulson helped steady him and let Clint lean on him as he got him standing; Clint took the opportunity to tangle his fingers back into Coulson's jacket and shirt. Coulson sighed and ignored it, more worried about how Clint looked unsteady on his feet as he wavered; Coulson was pretty sure he was the only thing keeping him up.

"We're going to walk over to the bed, okay Clint?" Coulson supplied. Clint simply let himself be led the few feet to the small little twin bed in the corner. Clint tripped over himself several times, and would have face-planted into the floor had Coulson not held him up. Finally, Coulson sat him down on the bed. He tried to get him to lie down, but it was hard to maneuver with Clint still holding on so tightly.

"Clint, you have to let go." Clint shuddered at that and refused to release him. Coulson looked at him again, and saw that his face had scrunched up in worry as he slowly shook his head back and forth. Coulson suddenly realized that Clint probably thought he was going to leave him alone.

"Clint," his head came up at the sound of his name, "you need to let go so we can both lie down here, okay?" Clint looked unsure, but he allowed Coulson to pull away his hands and then went easily down when Coulson lightly pushed on his shoulders. Coulson was surprised at how pliant he was being and arranged Clint on the bed so that he was comfortable. Clint stopped trying to reach for him, and kept his hands wherever Coulson put them; his face had gone back to its strange relaxed state with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

True to his word, Coulson laid down beside Clint. It was a tight squeeze because it was a twin size bed, but that didn't seem to bother Clint who shifted so that he was half-draped across Coulson, effectively keeping him in place with his sheer mass. Clint sighed contently and buried his face into Coulson's chest, breathing deeply and relaxing even further.

Coulson was starting to freak out.

He had never seen Clint so relaxed and open, and definitely never seen him so affectionate in the six years they've been working together. He'd seen Clint injured plenty of times before, three of those time, dangerously close to death, and once, technically dead, and each of those times Clint had either gritted his teeth through it or laughed it off, sometimes even both. But right now Clint was _snuggling_ into Coulson, and was way calmer than he usually was off-mission, not to even talk about _on_ missions, which they definitely were right now.

"Clint, are you okay?" Coulson asked. Clint wiggled closer to him and hummed happily.

"Clint?" Coulson tried again. His nervousness and concern must have been heard in his tone and Clint looked up in the direction of his face. Coulson saw the same relaxed blankness in his features, save for the small smile curving up. Clint didn't look worried or tense or angry or anything but curious and softly satisfied. Coulson sucked in a sharp breath when he realized what had happened.

Clint had fallen into subspace on accident.

Coulson couldn't believe it had taken him so long to figure that out, with the quiet, pliant way that Clint had suddenly gone, and everything just going softer and gentle. In his defense, Coulson thought, he'd never seen Clint down before, and he'd never have imagined Clint being so…well, _submissive_. Clint was loud, and rough, and everything that a sub wasn't supposed to be, so Coulson had always assumed he'd be this mouthy, pushy, bundle of trouble when he was down. Not this soft, sweet thing in his lap.

It made sense, now that Coulson's lagging brain was putting it together; it was hard for Clint to trust anyone, and as far as Coulson knew, he only trusted Natasha, and himself. After the traumatizing accident that just left Clint more vulnerable than ever before, Coulson had come in and calmed him down, telling him that he was _safe_. Of course Clint trusted him enough to follow him _blindly_ , and he'd let Coulson take care of him. Coulson doubted anybody had ever truly taken care of Barton before. He'd never known Clint to have a Dom, much less a collar, so the combination of exhaustion, terror, adrenaline and relief at safety in such a small space of time must have thrown him off balance.

It still surprised Coulson, however, the way that Clint was so clingy and needy, and how he followed each order or suggestion without resistance, absolutely pliant and chilled out. Subs were like that, and Coulson knew Clint was a sub, but Clint was _Clint_.

Coulson felt a sudden rush of gratitude that they were alone in the room so that he could savor this rare privilege alone. Coulson didn't know about who Clint went to when he needed to go down, but the fact that he was down now, and because Coulson had accidentally _put him there_ , well, Coulson sure as hell didn't want to fuck up anything more than it already was. He knew how troubled Clint's past was, and could only imagine the reasons as to why Clint never had a Dom the time that Coulson knew him. Coulson would be dammed if he did anything to hurt Clint any more than he'd already been.

The only problem was, that Coulson had no idea how to handle Clint in subspace. If there were anything specific he wasn't supposed to do, Coulson had no clue. But he had to do something. He could only hope that his version of properly taking care of him would line up with Clint's version. He'd have to talk to Clint about triggers more for next time. If there was a next time.

Clint was still staring his direction, obviously waiting for Coulson to say something. Coulson looked around, and saw there were a few water bottles on the bedside.

"C'mere, Clint." Coulson sat up so he was leaning against the headboard of the bed. He changed their position so that Clint was half-propped up, half-hanging onto Coulson, which he figured Clint liked if his happy hum was anything to go by. Coulson reached out with a hand to snatch up one of the bottle and brought it around Clint so that he could uncap it.

"This is water, Clint, okay? I want you to drink it." Coulson told him softly, letting his voice carry out an authoritative tone. Clint didn't spook at his tone, so Coulson took it as a plus. He carefully brought the bottle up to Clint's open and waiting mouth, and gently tipped it when his lips closed around the opening. Clint drank greedily, trying to suck down more water than Coulson was giving him, and he had to pull the bottle away a couple times before Clint started choking on the water. When the bottle was three-fourths done, Clint made a small noise, and Coulson moved the bottle back.

"Done?" Coulson asked gently. Clint looked shy as he buried his face into Coulson's shoulder and nodded slowly.

"Good boy." Clint moaned into his jacket at the words, and clung tighter to Coulson. Coulson chuckled kindheartedly as he downed the rest of the water. He made a mental note about how Clint was reacting well to praise as he put the empty bottle back on the table. He'd let Clint rest for a bit before giving him more water; it was cold outside, but if anything, it made it more dry and he didn't want Clint to get dehydrated.

He told Clint to lie down again, and this time, he let Clint use his lap as a pillow. Clint wrapped himself around the leg closest to him, giving Coulson the impression of an octopus. Coulson let his hand drop down to run his fingers through the soft sandy hair, making Clint smile against his thigh and let out a happy noise.

"Sleep, Clint." Coulson ordered him. He continued to play with his hair, sifting out the dirt and debris from the explosion until he knew he was asleep. Coulson continued to stroke his hair as he watched Clint's back rise and fall with easy, even breaths.

After about an hour, Hernandez knocked quietly on the door and opened it cautiously. Coulson smiled at him warmly, letting him know everything was fine. Hernandez looked down at Clint's sleeping form, and a small smile formed at the corners of his mouth. Everybody knew Clint was a sub, but Coulson hoped that the team would be tactful about Clint's obvious predicament.

"Sir, pick-up is at 0600. Rendezvous location is half a mile east." Hernandez whispered.

Coulson nodded, and whispered back, "Good. Have everyone ready by then." Hernandez nodded in reply and left the room, closing the door as gently as he had opened it. Coulson was sure that Clint had slept through their exchange, and took out his phone. It was 2am, so they wouldn't be moving for a few hours. He just hoped that Clint would come back up by the time they had to leave.

Coulson leaned back and shifted to get in a better position. His movement made Clint mutter something in his sleep, but he just clung tighter to his leg and relaxed again.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Coulson jerked awake when he heard movement outside the door. He looked at his phone and saw they had fifteen minutes before they were supposed to meet at the rendezvous; he must have dozed off at some point. Clint was still asleep in his now-numb lap, and Coulson was loath to wake him, but he had to if they were going to get out of this place. He again hoped that Clint would be back with them by now.

"Clint," Coulson murmured, "C'mon, you need to wake up. Clint." He gently shook his shoulder to rouse him. He stopped when he heard a scared whimper come from his lap.

"Shh, it's okay, Clint. It's me, Coulson. You are on a mission where you were in an explosion that temporarily blinded you, and you fell asleep here in the safe house. We need to get going so we can go home, though." Coulson informed him. Clint was still tensing up, and he had let go of Coulson to warp his arms around himself. He was trying to get up, but his balance was off, and he crumpled against the bed. His breathing picked up immediately and he started shivering. Coulson momentarily panicked internally about dropping. He really hoped they could avoid that.

"Clint, listen to me. You're okay, you're safe, we just need you to wake up. We need to catch that plane, Clint." Coulson kept up his litany of reassurances as he shrugged of his jacket to wrap it around Clint. Clint flinched hard at first, but then seemed to calm down slightly as he felt Coulson hands lingering on his shoulders and rubbing small circles through the fabric. Clint smelled the jacket, and then breathed out heavily.

"Sir." Clint acknowledged. He was still tense, nothing like he'd been a few hours ago. His face was hard with concentration as he waited for his orders.

"Good, Barton." Coulson praised, as he pulled him up into a sitting position. "Can you stand?" Coulson grabbed both of Clint's arms, giving him support.

"I, I think so, sir." Clint gritted out. He used Coulson's arms as leverage and pulled himself up. He wasn't quite steady, but it was going to have to work.

"I'm going to lead you out. I'll help support you the whole way, but you need to trust me." Coulson told him as he pulled him towards the door.

"I trust you, sir." Clint replied softly.

"Good, let's go." Coulson opened the door and they walked out. The other agents were finishing packing and were loading their weapons in case they'd been compromised. One of the agents, McCall, walked over to the pair and handed Coulson an extra gun. She looked wearily at Barton, and then looked back at Coulson. Coulson shook his head, and McCall affirmed, walking away without giving Barton a weapon.

"Helicopter is five minutes out, we need to move now." Rodriguez called out. The rest of the team picked up their bags and were out the door. Hernandez was the last one, and he held out the door for Coulson and Barton.

"Can you guys make it?" he asked cautiously, looking at Barton's less-than-stellar condition. His balance was still off, but he was doing fine staying on his feet.

"We'll make it. Cover us." Coulson ordered as he helped Barton out of the house.

It was still dark out and the streets were quiet, but Coulson didn't want them to be out here longer than they had to be; who knew who was around the corner. They didn't meet anyone as they walked, and then they heard the helicopter above their heads. Coulson, Barton and Hernandez reached it just as it was touching down. McCall, Rodriguez and the last agent, Campbell, all threw in their bags and loaded onto the helicopter. Rodriguez turned around and helped Coulson pull Barton up, pulling him into a seat and strapping him in. Coulson got in with Hernandez following in. Coulson took a seat next to Barton, and put a hand on his shoulder to let him know he was there. Campbell slid the door shut and gave the pilot the go ahead to take off.

Soon, they were in the air, heading home.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Coulson made his way down to medical after he finished the debrief.

Everyone there had given their versions of events, and they all matched pretty evenly: everything was going fine until it wasn't, and Barton figured it out and saved their asses, getting hit in the process. They skimmed over what happened at the safe house, simply stating that Barton had trouble getting used to the flash blindness, and Coulson was grateful that they had a shred of tact still in them. Everyone knew how valuable Clint was, and a random down during a mission would certainly bench him, if not permanently take him off the active field roster. Fury had raised an eyebrow at him, but Coulson had merely agreed with the other agents without adding to it.

Fury sighed wearily, saying, "We'll still have to debrief Barton when he's out of medical." Coulson agreed easily, and they were all free to go.

Coulson found Barton's room fast enough, the amount of times Barton had been in and out of there, the staff ended up using the same room for him. Coulson knew that they called it 'Barton's Room' but they denied it being out of friendly concern and stated that 'it'd be better if he woke up in a familiar setting'.

The door was cracked open, and Coulson peered through. Barton had been cleaned and was now sporting fresh new bandages over his eyes, as well as a hospital gown under a thick, fluffy comforter. Coulson understood that they'd been in a cold environment, and a virus would not be good for his present state. Coulson couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep, but before he could turn to leave, he heard Barton call out,

"I know you're there. I can hear you breathing." Coulson chuckled as he let the door swing all the way open. He walked around the bed to grab a chair from the corner and pulled it up beside the bed. Clint's head tracked his movements, and his 'gaze' was spot on.

Coulson settled down in the chair and asked, "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a bomb." Clint answered, grinning.

Coulson laughed at that and nodded his head. "Yeah, I guess that's a pretty good description of what happened." Coulson leaned back in the chair, relaxing. "What did the doctors say?"

"I saw some colors when they changed the bandages. Nothing much, just huge blobs, but they say they're confident that I'll be fine in just a couple of days. They want me to keep the bandages on, though." Clint shrugged nonchalantly, but Coulson could see the tension in his shoulders. He hated being restricted like that.

"Good. I'm happy to hear that." Coulson saw the way that Clint's grin slowly fell and his posture changed, slightly shifting in the bed.

"Um, sir?" Clint started, tentatively.

"Yes?" Coulson kept his tone light, not wanting to seem eager or threatening, just calm and collected.

"Uh, about what happened. In the safe house. I don't know why that happened, but I'm sorry, and I'll never do it again, I'll understand if you want to reassign me, that's fine, just please don't take me out of the field, please, and don't hate me, I can't,-"

"Clint, stop. Stop it." Coulson cut off his increasingly frantic rambling. Clint snapped his mouth shut with an audible _click_ at the mention of his name. "What happened in the safe house was dangerous and badly timed." Clint opened his mouth to speak, but Coulson grabbed his hand that had been just resting a couple of feet in front of him. "Wait, Clint, let me finish." Clint closed his mouth again, and let Coulson hold his hand, shifting it slightly so that it fit against his palm easier.

"What happened in the safe house was a result of multiple emotions running high, unfortunate circumstances and a high level of trust. Professionally, I was worried about the mission as a whole, and how it could impact it." Clint looked away in shame. "Personally, I understand some of the reasons as to why it happened." Clint looked back at Coulson, eyebrows high with incredulity.

"Clint, when was the last time you were with a Dom?" If Clint wasn't being taken care of, and it was starting to interfere with work, then Coulson knew he had to ask that question.

Clint shook his head slowly before turning his face away from Coulson and mumbled, "A while."

"How long is a while, Clint?" Coulson pressed gently.

"A long fucking time, Coulson, okay? What do you want me to say?" Clint snapped, taking his hand out of Coulson's and wrapping himself in his arms.

Coulson took a slow breath before saying, "I’m not judging you Clint. I just need to know if the fact that you’re not being taken care of, is something that will affect your work. And if it is, then we need to discuss options so that this doesn't happen again."

Clint visibly deflated at that, all defenses lowered again with the fight leaving him looking tired and vulnerable.

"So what, I just whore myself off to some Dom between missions?" Coulson knew that Clint tried to put bite into the question, but it just came out sounding tired.

A spike of jealously shot through Coulson as he imagined Clint going to some nameless Dom, but he quickly stamped down on that mental image. "Nobody's asking you to whore yourself out, Barton. SHIELD does provide services for subs in the field. You know that."

"S'not th' same, though." Clint mumbled.

"Well, do you have any other alternatives?" Coulson asked, trying not to let exasperation bleed into his voice.

Clint was silent for a moment where he fidgeted with his fingers before finally taking a deep breath and saying, "What about you?"

"What about me?" Coulson tried not to hope that Clint was talking about what he wanted him to be talking about.

"Can't you Dom me?" Clint's voice held conviction and he refused to bow his head, bandaged eyes seemingly locked with Coulson's, as if daring him. Coulson was speechless for a moment, but it was enough for Clint to tuck his head down and his expression start to fall, mumbling out, "I mean, we've been flirting around for a long time, Coulson. I've always liked you. Like, really like you."

"Clint, what exactly are you asking me to do? Dom you, or date you?" Coulson asked, trying to tamp down on a bright ball of hope trying to claw its way out of his chest.

"Both?" Clint asked hopefully, raising his head up towards Coulson for a moment, before ducking his head again and folding his hands in his lap. He refused to turn towards Coulson's direction, but his voice carried out clearly and sure enough.

"I dunno, I just felt really good when I was with you…in the safe house. I haven't felt that safe in…I don't remember." Clint shrugged. "S'not that surprising, I always feel better when you're around…just thought maybe if you wanted to be with me, we could do shit like that again or something." Clint sighed, and seemed to crumple in on himself. "Look, I get it if you don't see me like that, or want to do anything like that with me again, I shouldn't've asked in the first place,-"

Coulson reached out and grabbed both of Clint's hands. "Are you honestly asking me out, Barton?" Clint tipped his head up at the hopeful tone of the man in front of him. He nodded carefully, and heard a happy chuckle that made him let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Good." Coulson eased and relaxed as Clint smiled. "But I want you to ask me again, when you're out of medical and have had time to sort through all of this." Coulson was firm in his order.

Clint grinned at him, and said cockily, "Coulson, I've had six years to think about it."

Coulson laughed. "In that case, still ask me again later, okay?" Clint nodded in good humor. "And also, I think it's about time you start calling me 'Phil'. Off-mission, of course."

A wide, genuine smile spread across Clint's face. "Phil." He repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. Phil laughed happily at seeing Clint's giddiness.

Phil entertained the thought that this was going to work out after all.  


	2. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil reminisces on their first date, and then enjoys the present. 
> 
> Alternatively: the chapter with a lot of porn in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my awesome beta [varjohaltija](http://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija)!

Goddamn Asgardians. They make a mess out of everything.

Coulson stood in the middle of debris and destruction in a broken building in Greenwich and sighed. They had returned to London to help finish clean up and in case there'd been anymore alien artifacts to be found. Coulson thought it was unlikely, but it was their last day, so he didn't mind helping out.

His team had finished up and all were back at the hotel already; he was just doing a last sweep when he felt a pair of eyes on him. Coulson smiled and turned around. There was no one there, but he narrowed his eyes on a spot on the second floor. He kept staring even though there wasn't any movement.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Hungary right now?" He called out, eyes still locked on the spot. He heard laughter and then Clint materialized from nowhere in the same place Coulson had been looking at.

"Ended early. Requested to pay a visit to the Greenwich team for, uh, moral support." Clint answered back as he gripped the broken railing, and swung himself over to land neatly on the ground floor, smile wide and eyes bright.

Coulson smirked and watched as Clint walked up to him and cocked his head to the side with a shit-eating grin on his face. Clint might have been a sub, but he certainly wasn't one to parade around that fact.

Still smiling, Coulson turned around and kept doing his perimeter walk; Clint fell in step beside him, happiness radiating from him. Coulson looked down at the clipboard and made a quick calculation of how much more paperwork he was going to have to go through tonight, and asked Clint, "So why are you really here?"

Coulson knew why, but it thrilled him to hear Clint say, "Because I missed you. And you need a break." Coulson raised his eyebrow at him and Clint added, "And because my mission was a success and I deserve a reward." His grin spread wider and he waggled his eyebrows.

Phil chuckled at his expression and stopped walking, Clint easily coming to a parade rest in front of him. "Fine. Go to my room, and wait for me." Phil knew that Clint already knew what hotel and what room number Phil was staying in.

Clint nodded, still smiling and made to turn around but Phil kept talking, "And I want you naked and kneeling at the foot of the bed by the time I get there." He brought his clipboard up and started flipping through it, but he noticed Clint pause and turn back. His eyes had darkened a bit and his mouth was open as if he was going to say something.

He clicked it shut and then the grin was back as he saluted him sloppily and said, "Sir, yes Sir." By the time Phil looked up again, Clint was gone.

Phil stood there, eyes gazing over where Clint had been standing, and started thinking about the past few weeks. They had been pretty great.

Among many dates they'd had, their first was one of Phil's favorites.

_

Phil was working in his office, in the middle of the paperwork for Beirut when he heard a knock at the door.

"Come in." He called out without lifting his head. The door opened quietly and someone moved in, closing the door behind him. Coulson finished signing a paper and then looked up at the newcomer, and then his face broke into a smile when he saw who it was. "Clint," he breathed.

Clint Barton was standing slightly awkwardly by the door, not daring to come in further into the office he was usually so comfortable in.

"Hey. Hi." Clint mumbled, eyes shifting to look around the office. Phil could tell Clint was making an effort to keep his hands still by his sides, but Phil could nonetheless make out the slight twitchiness by his jeans.

Phil was amused by Clint's atypical nervousness, but asked gently, "Would you like a seat?" Clint startled slightly, but nodded absentmindedly and stiffly walked over to the chair that was facing Coulson's desk. He sat down gingerly and stayed at the edge of the seat, eyes still wandering around and finally picking a spot and staring just above the reports Phil was working on.

"Something on your mind, Specialist?" Coulson asked, straightening his reports and folding his hands over them to look at Clint.

It'd been almost a week since they got back from Beirut, and Clint had been discharged from medical four days later with a perfect bill of health, eyesight completely restored. Presumably their conversation from back then was front and center of Clint's mind, and Phil simply waited as Clint gathered up his thoughts.

"Um. Yeah." Clint answered. Phil just watched him with curious eyes. "I was, er, just wondering…if maybe, um, you'd like to, I dunno, gotoadinnerwithme?" Clint rushed out in one breath. Phil had to hold back a laugh at how absolutely flustered Clint was.

It was adorable.

The usually sure, confident, steady assassin was utterly shit at asking people out on dates. The thought made Phil crack a smile. Clint looked up the end of his question with such a hopeful look, it made Phil want to hold his face to his chest and kiss him silly. Instead, he asked, "I'm done by seven. Italian sound good?"

Clint's happy expression could have powered the whole building. "Right. I mean, yes. No, I mean, shit. Um. I'll be there. Here." Clint tripped over his words as he straightened up in his chair. "Seven o'clock. I'll meet you here." He finally managed. At Phil's answering expression, Clint stood up and walked back to the door. As he turned the doorknob, he looked back at Phil and showed his brilliant beaming face again before saluting him cockily.

At seven pm, on the dot, Coulson heard the _rat-tat-tat_ on his door, and he closed the file he'd been working on. To tell the truth, he'd been so distracted for the past half hour that he knew he was going to have to redo everything in that folder.

He said, "Come in." And started putting things away in their place, pulling open drawers and replacing files in their respective spots. Clint entered the office but stayed by the door, opting to lean on the doorframe and cross his arms as he waited for Coulson.

It only took a minute before Phil was standing in front of Clint and asking him if he was ready to go.

Clint was adorably nervous throughout the car ride to the restaurant Phil had chosen. He was babbling more about unimportant subjects, trying to fill in the silence, and Phil just let him, listening to the incessant chatter and smiling affectionately when Clint would pause for a breath and then start up again.

It wasn't until Phil caught Clint side-eyeing him, that Phil sobered up and realized that this was Clint's first outing with a Dom in a long time. Phil had no idea what kind of Doms Clint had had in the past, but they couldn't have been very good if Clint was acting so strangely now. Clint was already trying to appease Phil, and they hadn't agreed on anything yet. Phil wanted to smack himself for not noticing sooner.

By the time they were seated and had the menus placed in front of them, Clint had exhausted his rambling and was set on staring at the menu, not even looking at the choices being offered. Phil noticed and gently offered, "You know, they make a mean spaghetti a la carbonara here." Phil wondered if his previous Doms had always dictated Clint's meals, and winced internally at the thought that maybe he just screwed everything up already.

Clint didn't look at Phil, but nodded seriously, still staring at nothing. The waiter came and took their orders, Clint's voice soft and unsure, and then they were alone; the waiter grabbed the menus so Clint took to breaking off pieces of the bread that was in front of him.

"Clint." Phil said gently. Clint glanced up at Phil and looked away. When Phil didn't continue, Clint looked back at Phil and held the eye contact.

"There we go." Phil let himself smile softly. "Clint, it's okay. Nothing has to happen that you don't want to happen tonight."

Phil took a sip of his water as he watched Clint parsing through that information, facial expression ranging from confusion to indignant to finally land on sheepish.

"Sorry. I've been wanting this for so long and I'm fucking it up already." Clint looked down at the broken off pieces of bread that was spreading crumbs all over the table.

"No, you're not."  Phil stated. Clint looked up at that and saw the warm smile on Phil's face and couldn't help but smile back. "Tell me about that new bow Stark made you?"

That got a huge smile from Clint and he launched into a description of air velocities and compensation gears and other things that Phil understood a little bit about. By the time their food had arrived, Clint was completely relaxed and talking animatedly, all nervousness forgotten as they settled into their normal chatter and banter.

Their good mood carried all throughout dinner, and when they were finished and paying, Phil asked softly, "Want to come to my place?"

Clint's eyes darkened and he could only nod, speechless.

Phil let them into his apartment, and he closed the door behind them, throwing the keys onto the plate on the kitchen counter. Phil shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the back of a chair. Turning around, he saw Clint already had his jacket off, and was watching Phil, eyes wide and mouth ajar.

"See something you like?" Phil quipped, walking towards the couch. He barely heard Clint's hummed reply before the man himself was suddenly standing in front of him. Phil could see how dilated Clint's pupils were, and the sight sent a thrill down his spine and to his cock.

Phil could feel his breath and as Clint's mouth opened unconsciously. Phil's hands came up to grip Clint's hips, and suddenly his mouth was crashing into Clint's as their body were pressed against each others. Clint's mouth was warm and inviting as their tongues slid against each other. Clint pushed in and tried to take control of the kiss, but as soon as Phil pushed back, he let himself be taken over. Phil's hands started roaming over Clint's back, but it wasn't close enough for Phil, so he slid his hands underneath Clint's t-shirt and lightly scratched the skin there, making Clint moan against his mouth.

The sound only encouraged Phil more and he pushed Clint down onto the couch, following so as not to break contact. Clint's hands wound around Phil's shoulder to pull him down further and his legs fell open naturally, to make room for Phil, whose arms were bracketing Clint's head, bracing himself against the back of the couch.

"Fuck," Clint breathed out emphatically when they parted. Phil made an agreeing sound in the back of his throat and kissed his lips, chaste compared to before. Clint's hands started pawing at Phil's shirt, but Phil ignored them in favor of tugging at Clint's shirt, and winning when Clint relented and helped pull it off.

Clint was beautiful. Phil had, of course, seen him naked plenty of times on missions, but having his chest bare to him in this context added to the fire growing in his groin. He let his hands roam across the plains of his muscles, curving around his ribs and lightly brushing across a nipple which cause Clint to sharply inhale and bring his arms back around Phil.

When Phil bent his head down to take a nipple in his mouth, Clint keened and fisted his hands in the back of Phil's shirt. The noise only drove Phil on and he brought a hand to play with the other nipple as he laved and sucked the one he was currently working on.

Clint's chest started pushing up against Phil's mouth and his breathy pants turned into pleas, "Fuck, Phil, please." Phil let go with a last lick, and brought his other hand to rub at the wet nub, keeping him occupied as he asked mildly, "Please what, Clint?"

It took a moment before Clint could get his head on straight to give out an answer. "Fuck me?" He breathed out, eyes looking up at Phil from under his lashes. Phil cursed under his breath and surged against him again, kissing him roughly and with enthusiasm.

"Yeah, Clint, I'll fuck you," Phil said, breaking away to look at Clint's hooded eyes. Clint moaned at that, and pulled him in closer for another kiss. This time, when Phil gained the upper hand again, Clint melted underneath, his head tipping up to give Phil more access, his hands staying fisted where they were, and his body bowing up towards Phil for his hands to have free reign. Phil pulled back for a moment, and saw how Clint's eyes closed as he tilted his head further back, exposing his neck to Phil.

Phil suddenly remembered Beirut.

"Clint?" Phil asked, pulling back slightly. Clint opened his eyes slowly at the change in tone in Phil's voice, but his eyes were sharp. "Were you hoping I'd do more than fuck you tonight?" Nothing like brutal honesty, in Coulson's book.

Clint looked down and away at that in shame as his cheeks began to fill. His hands let go of Phil's shirt and he brought them down to wrap around his chest in humiliation as he nodded stiffly.

Coulson hadn't meant to change the mood so fast, and he definitely didn't want Clint to be embarrassed to ask for what he wanted.

"Hey, _hey._ " Coulson got his attention, bringing a hand to cup his chin and tilt his head up until Clint finally made eye contact, "It's okay to ask for things, Clint. God only knows I grant you everything already." Clint's mouth twitched at that, but he still couldn't hold his gaze for long, and his cheeks were still deepening their rosy color.

"I just haven't felt that safe with anyone in…a while" Clint mumbled, squeezing his arms tighter together.  Phil lowered his hand to where Clint's arms were crossed and he lightly pulled on a wrist until Clint relented and opened up, letting his hands fall down by his sides.

"Do you want me to put you down tonight?" Phil asked, keeping his optimism in check. Clint looked up at him then, with an honest expression of hope on his face before he looked away again, and nodded, biting his lower lip. Phil couldn't help himself when he leaned in and kissed him, grinning at the surprised look Clint still had frozen in place. "I want to make it good for you. I'll make it so good for you." Phil intoned, voice going rough.

Clint's eyes darkened at that and his hips gave a helpless twitch at that. Phil grinned predatorily then, and shifted off of Clint and to the side.

"Wait, Clint," Phil paused, and Clint went still. "Tell me, is there something I shouldn't do?"

Clint looked up at him and then away, saying softly, "Just-, don't hit me, please?"

Phil suddenly hated every Dom Clint had ever been with that made him fear violence from his Dom. "Fuck, of course, Clint. I won't hurt you. Ever." Phil promised emphatically.

Clint dragged his gaze up at Phil again and smiled brilliantly. "I know you won't." If Phil could hear how unsteady that declaration had been, he wasn't going to mention it.

"I won't. I'll make it good for you." Phil repeated, and leaned over to kiss Clint breathless.

"Kneel." Phil ordered huskily when they parted, "In front of me."

Clint outright whimpered and hastily moved to comply, slipping down from the couch to place himself in between Phil's legs.

Phil reached up to his own collar and untied the tie there, slipping it out to hold both ends in each hand. He knew that they were still going at this sideways, and that that they should be having a more in-depth conversation before they do anything instead of hitting and missing, but Phil couldn't bring himself to stop to do it. He simply held out the tie and watched as Clint sucked in a breath, swallowed hard, and nodded seriously.

Phil took the tie and brought it slowly towards Clint's face, giving him time to move away if he needed to. Clint stayed absolutely still and kept his eyes open until the soft silk of the tie covered his sight. Clint shuddered helplessly when Phil finished tying the blindfold behind Clint's head, making sure it was snug enough not to fall off, but loose enough to not be bothersome.

"Good boy," Phil breathed out instantly. He clicked his mouth shut at that, but relaxed when Clint simply moaned and leaned into the hand on the side of his face. "You're so good for me, aren't you, Clint?" Phil asked, letting his thumb brush across his cheek and lips. Clint trembled slightly as he opened his mouth automatically, letting Phil push his thumb in for a moment.

"Suck." The command had left Phil's mouth before he was even conscious of it. Clint responded immediately, and closed his mouth around the single digit, tongue swirling and licking the pad of the thumb as he sucked. Phil looked down to see that Clint was making small, aborted movements with his hips and realized he was already hard and probably aching.

"That's good, Clint." He removed his thumb with a wet pop, and lowered his hand to the back of Clint's neck, fingers curling possessively. "I think we should move this to the bedroom. Stand up for me, Clint." Phil ordered. Noticing Clint wasn't as balanced as usual, he added, "I've got you, here." Phil helped Clint stand, steadying him for a moment. Phil gripped both of Clint's wrists in one hand and led him through the hallway down to his bedroom.

When they were inside, Phil brought Clint to the edge of the bed, and then pushed him down onto it. Clint landed on his back with a soft _oomph_ and let his arms fall to the sides, fingers trailing across the comforter's fabric. Phil leaned over him and kissed his lips first, only to continue down his jaw and neck, biting softly at the soft skin at the base of his throat and marveling at the deep rumble of a groan Clint let out at that. Phil took his time, licking, sucking and biting at his chest, bringing his hands into play to pinch and rub at sensitive nipples as he made his way down towards his navel. When he got to the top of Clint's jeans, Phil started undoing the buckle there and unbuttoned the pants; when Phil started tugging down, Clint lifted his hips to help Phil pull down the jeans and underwear off. Clint's cock jutted upwards, hard and already leaking a bit when Phil tossed the clothes away. Phil sucked in a breath at the sight, and he couldn't help bending over to lick a stripe up his erection, making Clint moan out loud and cant his hips up a bit.

Phil hummed against Clint's cock, "Mmm, god you taste so good."

Clint whined at that and Phil straightened up. "Scoot up on the bed, for me." Clint acted immediately, moving up until he felt the pillows on his head. Meanwhile, Phil had taken off his shirt and pants and had walked around to the drawer beside the bed. He opened it, and located the bottle of lube he had stashed there.

Getting back onto the bed, he spread Clint's legs open, earning another broken off whimper, and then situated himself in between. He trailed his fingers lightly along Clint's thighs, and enjoyed watching the muscles there quivering under the simple touch.

As he pushed slightly at one thigh, and watched as Clint corrected himself and spread that leg further open, Phil noticed how quiet Clint had become. He had been reduced to quiet gasps, and breathy whimpers as Phil slicked up his fingers and circled the tight hole Clint was presenting himself with. Clint was choking on moans and his breathing had sped up to little pants leaving him open mouthed as Phil slowly pushed in one finger all the way to the knuckle. Clint's fingers were sporadically clenching and unclenching as Phil stretched him out with two fingers, and by the time he had three fingers sliding in and out, Clint was making the most delicious noises Phil had ever heard. Each little noise that fell from Clint's lips made Phil unconsciously stroke him faster. It wasn't until Phil crooked his fingers and found the bundle of nerves, and Clint jerked suddenly, letting out a soft "Oh," that his breathing slowed down dramatically.

"Clint?" Phil ventured, slightly worried. Clint's response was to sigh happily and push back on the exploring fingers. He had completely slipped under. Phil was surprised at how little it took Clint for that; Phil had barely done much to coax him down.

Phil couldn't help but smile, however, at the lax and easy mess of limbs in front of him. It was always a privilege to have a sub down, and having _Clint_ down and in front of him was an honor.

Phil pulled his fingers out slowly, chuckling softly when Clint whined at the loss. Phil kissed him chastely to make up for his absence as he stroked himself once before moving into the right angle. Clint made another pitiful sound as Phil gripped his hips, but Clint's whine quickly turned into a soft exhalation as Phil positioned himself and started pushing into the warm body.

"So good, Clint. You feel so good. Tight, and warm, and amazing," Phil was rambling on as he relished the long slide into Clint. Clint seemed to really thrive on praise, so Phil kept up his litany of soft words. He paused when he was as far in as he could go, and lowered his head to kiss Clint gently. Clint surrendered easily to Phil, letting him take control of everything, and moaning softly as Phil start to pull back and thrust in again. Phil kept the pace easy and slow, not wanting to rush Clint who was obviously enjoying everything Phil was giving him at the moment. Clint looked like he was getting lost in the warm protection of Phil's body covering his, and Phil felt a burst of affection at the open and honest expression on Clint's face.

Clint's legs were wrapped around Phil's waist, and his hands were still where they had been left on the bed. Phil reached down and gripped Clint's wrists, dragging his arms up and over his head; Phil shifted slightly to accommodate the new position, and for a moment, he placed his weight on Clint's wrists, making him moan helplessly at the feeling. When Phil leaned back, taking his weight with him, Clint gave a desperate whimper at the loss, but quieted down immediately when Phil pinned him down again.

"You like that, huh?" Phil breathed as his hips snapped against Clint's a little harder than he meant to. He put more pressure on Clint's wrists and Clint just kept uttering his beautiful noises.

Phil kept his rhythm going for a long while, savoring each shudder and sigh Clint was making under him. But Phil was only human, and could feel himself starting to get close to the edge. He wanted to bring Clint over with him, and said with a low voice, "Don't come until I tell you to." Clint trembled at that and squeezed his legs around Phil.

Phil moved both of Clint's wrists so that he was still pinning him down with one hand, and with his other, he encouraged Clint's leg to slide up, until he was stretched out, spread completely open with one leg wrapped around Phil's waist, and the other resting on Phil's shoulder. The new position allowed Phil to hit Clint's prostate on every thrust, and Phil was so grateful that Clint was flexible enough for the position.

Clint was breathing faster again, as Phil increased his tempo, and soon he was panting with the effort to not come, Phil realized, as Clint made soft little whining noises at the back of his throat. Phil switched hands, still keeping Clint's wrists pinned to the bed, and with his free hand, he snaked down to grab Clint's leaking cock, and started stroking it at the same time with his thrusts, swiping his thumb over the head on the upstroke. Clint jolted as if he'd been hit with electricity and started whining and whimpering louder, shaking his head from side to side in desperate movements.

Phil felt his orgasm just beyond the horizon, and breathing hard, he gasped out, "Come, Clint, come now." Clint arched his back off of the bed and pressed himself flush against Phil's body as he came spectacularly, crying out weakly and body shivering. Seeing him lose it, Phil was powerless to not follow, thrusting in deep and coming hard into the pliant body.

Pulling out and away from Clint was probably the hardest thing Phil had ever done. He only leaned away far enough to grab a few tissues to clean them up with, before he came back to lie down against Clint's warmth, gathering him in his arms and holding him tight against his chest, feeling Clint's breaths even out as he fell asleep. Phil debated on taking off the tie blinding Clint, and decided to take it off, lest Clint wake up alert and in a panic. He only wanted Clint to remember how good this night had been.

And it had been _good._

_

Phil shook himself from the memory and decided he needed to get to the hotel as soon as he could. It didn't take long to finish his last sweep, and soon he was walking across the hotel lobby and riding up the elevator to his floor.

Phil opened the door to his room, and closed it, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up in the hallway closet. He toed off his shoes and took off his tie as he padded to the bedroom. When he reached it, he couldn't hold back the smile on his face when he saw Clint, naked, kneeling on the carpet at the foot of the bed, head bowed, and hands clasped behind his back.

They had finally had The Conversation, after their first time together, and they had quickly realized just how complementary they were for each other. Phil liked to see Clint lose himself in pleasure, and Clint liked getting soft orders and lots of praise. They quickly found out that Clint slipped into subspace rather easily when blindfolded; without it, Phil brought him down traditionally even if it always took longer, and he couldn't stay down as long. Most of the time, though, they both liked Clint's easy decent into subspace that the blindfold brought.

Which was why Phil reached into his pocket and took out the high quality blindfold that he'd bought, not long after that conversation, and he let it roll down and sway as he walked up to stand over Clint.

"Clint." He looked up at his name, and Phil couldn't suppress a smile when he saw Clint's eyes were wide and excited. He had read the report on Clint's latest mission, and knew how admirably Clint had performed, and wanted to give him the reward he so deserved. "Safeword?"

"Singapore." Clint breathed out with a smile. They'd never needed to use it, but it didn't hurt to have it. Apparently, Clint's other Doms had never offered one to him, so Phil had made sure to let Clint know that he could always stop Phil, no matter what.

"Good boy." Phil sunk his hand into Clint's hair and pulled him to his thigh, letting Clint breathe him in and relax. When their breaths were synchronized, Phil lightly tugged Clint back and crouched to tie the blindfold over his eyes. He always did this part slow, always giving Clint time to move away if he wasn't ready for it yet, and it also thrilled him to see the excited trepidation in his face as he took away his best sense.

He never tightened it more than he needed to, and Clint never complained about it. He did, however, always lean into Phil's hands, seeking reassurance that he wasn't going to be left alone or handled wrongly. Phil always bit back the indiscriminate anger he felt towards Clint's past at that, wanting to strangle all of those Doms. Instead, he just rubbed his fingers across Clint's cheekbones, and lips, and always emanated reassurance and safety. Sometimes he'd softly trace the blindfold's edges and Clint's eyelids underneath just to see Clint's breath hitch and his body just lean closer to Phil.

Today, Phil straightened up, hand still in Clint's hair, and scratched his scalp lightly, relishing the soft shivers Clint couldn't help but make as small goose bumps appeared on his naked skin. With his free hand, he reached down to the bed to grab the cuffs that Clint had placed there earlier. They had quickly found that having Clint bound was something of a freeing effect on Clint, where he just had to let himself feel and submit to Phil without having to think about the repercussions. Phil pushed away the thought of how many before him had taken advantage of that particular thing.

"Hands." Phil murmured, and Clint's arms rose as he offered his hands. Phil took one wrist and secured the cuff, clicking it in place, before he did the same to the other wrist. He attached the two cuffs together, in front of Clint's body, and then placed them gently on Clint's lap. Clint was already breathing deeper and the tension in his body was quickly slipping away.

Phil lightly ran a finger on the underside of Clint's jaw and said, "Open." Clint obediently opened his mouth, and waited patiently while Phil unbuckled his belt and pulled his cock out, hard and eager. He stood close to Clint and sighed when Clint leaned in to breath him in and nose at the warm erection. Phil gripped the hair at the back of his head and gently pulled Clint backwards, a reminder to stay still and do as he's told. Clint whined softly at the loss of contact but otherwise stilled under Phil's hand. Phil couldn't help but let his cock rest on Clint's lips, barely in his mouth, and hear the whimper Clint gave when he stayed there, not letting him taste or move.

Clint loved giving head, and denying him like this was the sweetest torture.

Finally, Phil slowly pushed in as he pulled Clint's head onto his cock. Clint moaned in relief and relaxed further, simply letting Phil push in and pull out of his waiting mouth.

Phil knew Clint wanted more, so he finally relented and ordered, "Suck," to which Clint instantly complied with, closing his mouth around Phil, and sucking while using his tongue to slide along the underside vein. Phil groaned as Clint got to work, licking, humming, sucking and kissing along Phil's length; his mouth was dangerous like this, and all of Clint's attention was on Phil.

Soon, Phil needed more. He had both hands bracing on Clint's head, and he gripped a little tighter, stilling Clint's movements to start to thrust a little into his mouth. As Clint got more and more pliant, Phil started thrusting harder and harder, reaching the back of his throat and pushing soft choking noises out of Clint. He could tell that Clint was slipping under fast; he often did when his throat got fucked. He was letting go as Phil was taking away his last bit of control.

Phil was actively driving his cock in and out, keeping a steady pace that faltered occasionally when Clint would moan and send sweet vibrations up Phil's spine. Phil pushed in as deep as he could, and held it, hand heavy on Clint's nape, keeping him in place. When Phil pulled back to let Clint breathe, Clint coughed a little bit and immediately followed forward trying to fill his mouth again. So Phil acquiesced and plunged back in, effectively cutting off Clint's air.

"So good for me, Clint. So good." Phil praised breathily.

Clint looked so loose and slack, taking everything Phil gave him, and Phil was so proud of him. He moved one of his hands from the back of Clint's head to snake around and place it on Clint's throat, fingers spreading and lightly gripping the flesh there. He could feel his own cock as he slid out to let Clint breathe again for a moment before pushing back in. Phil's fingers twitched and Clint let out a muffled mewl, creating delicious tremors that made Phil's cock pulse. He then squeezed his hand slightly, and gasped when he felt the pressure on his cock as well as a full groan from Clint. Phil had to pull out then or else he would have come a moment later.

"Fuck, Clint. The things you do to me." Phil's voice was husky with lust. He felt so protective so Clint at that moment.

He kept his grip on Clint's throat, feeling each hoarse cough Clint made. When Clint's breathing had evened out again, Phil started tugging him upwards slowly. Clint didn't realize it at first and started choking again, but a hand on his shoulder made him realize he was being asked to move and he shakily got up enough for Phil to push him backwards onto the bed.

Clint laid limp on the bed and moved easily wherever Phil arranged him. Soon, Clint's arms were stretched up above his head and secured to the headrest of the hotel bed. Phil had gotten rid of his own pants and was in the middle of opening Clint up, when Clint started sighing Phil's name.

" _Phil,_ " Clint's voice was dreamy and distant and hitched slightly when Phil crooked his fingers to press into his prostate.

"Hey, sweetie. You're being so good. Gonna have me in you, real soon." Phil now had three fingers twisting and stretching Clint out, finding barely any resistance with the way Clint was so open and relaxed. Clint shuddered and tugged absently at the restraints, no real strength behind it; Phil noticed it was just Clint wanting to feel surrounded and safe as he fell deeper into his own headspace.

Ready, Phil pulled out his fingers and after wiping them on the bed sheets, he traced Clint's thighs up and down, easily massaging the flesh there. He gripped the thighs and tugged upwards, bringing them up towards Clint's stomach, exposing Clint brutally. His legs neatly fell on either side of Phil as he positioned himself and pressed into Clint; Phil kissed Clint's chest as his breath was pushed out by the movement.

Phil started an easy pace, getting the both of them used to it, before he paused to maneuver Clint's legs onto his shoulders, folding Clint in half. Phil then bodily pulled Clint down the bed, making his arms go taut as they were still tied to the bed, reinforcing the fact that Clint had nowhere to go. When Phil sunk back inside, Clint moaned desperately and started trembling. Phil continued his slow rhythm, making sure to drag along Clint's prostate on each stroke.

" _Phil, Phil, pl-please,_ " Clint whimpered, fingers flexing in their cuffs as he started shaking his head from side to side. Phil knew Clint was getting really close, and he was just about ready to fall over the edge, himself. So he sped up his pace, driving into Clint with more force, and causing soft, helpless noises to tumble out of Clint's slack-opened mouth.

"Come for me, Clint," Phil gasped as he thrust in roughly, repeatedly. He wasn't touching Clint, but apparently that wasn't needed when Clint went rigid and came hard, painting both their stomachs in white. Phil had never seen him come untouched before, and the sight short-circuited his brain as he shoved in vigorously and then came so hard his vision whited out for a moment.

When he was aware again, Phil realized he was lying on top of Clint, pinning him down in an awkward position with his legs still hanging over Phil's back. Clint didn't seem to mind, but Phil felt bad and straightened up, taking his weight off of him, and gently bringing down each leg.

Phil's hips twitched in an aborted thrust, and the movement jarred Clint who whimpered and shivered at the over-sensitized feeling. Phil cooed at him softly as he kissed Clint's face, and pulled out as carefully as he could. Still whispering quiet praises and sweet nothings, Phil unlocked the cuffs and arranged themselves in a more comfortable position on the bed, with Phil cradling Clint, who just cuddled closer.

Phil gently extricated the blindfold from Clint's face, and smiled warmly when Clint refused to open his eyes, instead opting to burrow into Phil's chest. Tossing the blindfold off to the side, Phil pressed a kiss into the sandy blonde hair and took a deep breath that was pure Clint. Clint made a small noise, and he was obviously exhausted, so Phil just shushed him and settled against him, letting himself drift to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	3. Istanbul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Clint's birthday, and the Avengers find out about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Clint needs more birthday parties in his life. :D
> 
> My beta [varjohaltija](http://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija) is awesome! :D

Coulson loved having Clint as his sub. It felt like everything was going right for once in their lives, and the fact of the matter was, that they were like two missing pieces of a puzzle put together. Phil always knew when Clint was high-strung or antsy, and needed to be put down, and Clint could tell when Phil was feeling overworked or tired and would offer alternatives to vent. Most of the time, it was quiet, for them. Ever since they got an apartment together (that was off base, finally), they had both taken to domestic life as well as two, high-level spies could do. They were living their lives, and they were both happy as can be.

So that was why Phil felt uneasy about feeling uneasy.

The root of his problem, of course, was the topic of which they had both worn holes into. It boiled down to the fact that Phil was wary and worried about how easily Clint could go down into subspace when blindfolded. Half the time, Phil just had to put on the damn thing, and Clint was already halfway there, with just barely an extra push from Phil to get him to settle down all the way.

They both usually loved Clint's easy decent, but then Phil started thinking too much about it. He started thinking about missions, and how simply they could be jeopardized; all that would need to happen, was for Clint to get caught and for the baddies of the week to slap a blindfold on him, and _snap_ , they'd suddenly have a downed sub, pliant in their hands. They wouldn't even have to resort to violence for the interrogation, since subs that were down always told the truth, and really never thought to disobey what was asked of them. They were trusting and open, and in the wrong hands, it could end in a complete disaster.

Clint, of course, had tried multiple times to reassure him that that would never happen and how ridiculous Phil was being. That it doesn't work that way for him. But every time Phil pressed that cloth over Clint's eyes and saw him dip that much faster down, it just acted to solidify his worries.

Clint told him he was being silly and overprotective and a downer Dom, and Phil learned to let it go in front of Clint, because it put him in a bad mood. But inside, Phil still had that nagging worry.

It' wasn't until Clint's birthday that Phil got placated a little bit. After a lot of worrying, of course. Because when doesn't Phil worry?

Nobody, except Clint and Phil, knew it was Clint's birthday at the time. It had just been a coincidence that Stark had a publicity fundraiser for the Avengers on the same night. Phil had wanted to tell everyone else about Clint's day, but Clint had shrugged him off.

"It doesn't really matter. We're out celebrating anyway." Clint had said as he fiddled with his cuff links of the suit that Phil had bought him, half for the fundraiser, and half as a birthday present.

"But it's your _birthday_." Phil had kept trying point out, sliding his arms through his own jacket.

Clint had given another shrug, "Honestly, Phil. It doesn't matter to me. You already wished me happy birthday. I'm fine." He'd then stopped fiddling with his cuff links to lean over and kiss Phil.

The thing was, Clint _did_ look fine.

He seemed happy enough to go along with the party and smile at the guests and cameras, mingling with celebrities and the rich, trying to get donations for some charity or other. Phil thought it was funny how Clint's behavior at these fundraisers always varied; he was either in the mood, chatting everyone up and being the life of the party, or sulking and uncomfortable, trying to sneak out or become invisible. Phil had yet to figure out the key to Clint's willingness to go to these events.

Clint was charming and entertaining some rich, elderly women, when Phil caught sight of Tony talking with Steve, with both of their heads bowed, looking suspicious in the way they kept stealing glances towards Clint. It put Phil on edge, naturally, to have two strong Doms obviously talking about his sub, and Phil mentally kicked himself for being so proprietary.

It didn't help set him at ease when Thor and Bruce joined the two and they were all sort of huddled together in a not-so-subtle secret conversation. During one of Steve's glances, he caught Phil looking at them warily, and Steve smiled brightly at Phil and waved him over. Phil couldn't help but smile back, because Steve's expression did wonders to relax Phil's on-edge instincts.

"What's going on?" Phil asked, mock-quietly when he reached the group.

"Highly classified project, Agent. Let's call it 'Operation Istanbul', since that's the last place we saved." Phil gave him an unimpressed look. Tony ignored Phil and said excitedly, "We're throwing Clint a birthday party." He turned back to the group, and pointed at Thor and Bruce. "Okay, you guys go back to the Tower now, I'll follow back with Agent, Natasha will bring home the prize and we'll-,"

"Hold up, wait." Phil interrupted, feeling a bit dazed by Tony's sudden explanation. "How did you guys know it was Clint's birthday?"

Natasha simply gave him a flat look that spoke volumes. Phil didn't startle when she appeared out of nowhere into the conversation.

Tony kept talking, "Seriously, leave, now. Operation is a go." He made a frantic shooing gesture at Bruce and Thor, who both chuckled and left, making their winding way out of the hotel ballroom. "Nat, go acquire your target." Tony looked at Steve and seemed to falter for a moment. "Steve…go do something. Agent, with me."

Steve rolled his eyes and Natasha gave an exasperated sigh at Tony's antics, but she gave Phil a wink before slinking away in Clint's direction, Steve trailing behind her. Phil lost track of them when Tony grabbed his arm and started pulling him through the crowd. Phil's first instinct was to break Tony's arm, but he managed to just easily slip his grip and follow him out.

When they walked out into the open air, Tony directed them both to one of Stark's fancy cars, and they slipped in, with Tony driving them off barely before Phil closed his door.

Phil had a lot of questions, but they mostly all died off when he realized he was feeling a little bit giddy.

"You guys are throwing Clint a birthday party." Phil stated.

Tony took a sideways glance at him and said, "Well, yeah. Duh. That's literally what we just told you. Are you going deaf? Is your old age finally getting to you? Do we need to call up your geriatrics doctor for a check-,"

"Stark, I'll be in a rocking chair in a nursing home, and I'll still be able to beat your ass." Phil interrupted, but his smile betrayed his snappy tone.

Tony simply grinned and focused on weaving in and out of traffic.

"So, what's the plan, then?" Phil asked after a couple moments of unusual silence.

Tony smiled wide, and launched off, "Well, Thor should have landed with Bruce by now, and all they need to do is light the candles on the cake. When we arrive in," Tony checked his watch, "three minutes, we'll break out the liquor and I'm sure we have a balloon somewhere or something…I'll ask Jarvis about that…" Tony got sidetracked, no doubt trying to remember if the tower has any balloons.

"What a weird, impromptu birthday." Phil chuckled. "It'll be perfect. Avengers-style." Phil watched out his window as the world sped by.

"How is Natasha bringing Clint in? He's going to be suspicious about everyone leaving." Phil mused.

"Well, we thought it'd be fun to make it a surprise party, but it's kind of tough to surprise a spy, ya know?" Tony raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. "So we figured, that even if he knows what's up, he'll still play along. So Natasha'll still blindfold him, spin him around and see if he can pin the tail on the donkey. Which he will do. Because he's crazy like that."

Phil froze in the middle of Tony's explanation, but Tony didn't seem to notice as he pulled into the garage of the tower and parked.

Opening the car door, Phil asked, "Wait, did you say Natasha was going to blindfold Clint?" He tried to swallow his sudden unease.

Tony was oblivious to Phil's abrupt change in mood. "Yup. We're doing this right, jumping out from behind the couches and yelling, 'surprise!' and everything. Go big, or go home. Well, we _are_ home, but you get what I mean."

Tony was inside of the elevator, and only stopped talking when he realized that Phil was still standing by the car.

"Yo! You coming or what? They're going to be here any minute, let's go, let's go!"

Phil got into elevator and promptly started panicking in his head.

He didn't notice the way the elevator had started moving, quickly rising up the floors to the penthouse, and he certainly wasn't paying attention to Tony's rambling about the details of the how they had come up with the hastily-put-together plan. Phil almost stumbled out of the elevator when the doors opened for them and Tony dashed out to where Thor and Bruce were already lighting a giant chocolate cake. Steve was blowing up some balloons that he had managed to find, and the few that there were already inflated, littered the floor around him.

Tony had procured several bottles of liquor and was in the middle of arranging them on the table along with the cake when Jarvis spoke up, "Agent Romanov has Agent Barton in the elevator and will arrive in approximately two minutes."

"Excellent, J." Tony said as he pulled out champagne glasses. Phil was still frozen in shock and fear, thoughts racing through his head. Would Clint be down? Would Natasha know? How long would Clint have been down for? How would the rest of the team react to Clint? Would Phil have to bring him up now or later?

More and more questions were bubbling up, and threatening to suffocate Phil by the time Tony was urgently stage-whispering everyone to crouch down behind a sofa or kitchen counter, or whatever. Phil numbly crouched down behind a loveseat just as the lights went down. Everyone went silent, and the elevator ding could be heard clearly throughout the penthouse.

Clint could be heard mumbling something about 'crazy lady' when Tony and Thor jumped up, screaming, "Surprise!", just as the lights turned back on. Steve and Bruce rose up calmly, offering their own smiles and congratulations. Phil stood up slowly in time to see Natasha removing the blindfold off a dazed-looking Clint. Bruce grabbed the cake and walked in front of Clint, offering the lighted dessert, saying, "Happy birthday, Clint!"

Phil saw the way that Clint's expression turned from wary to flat-out grinning from ear to ear when he saw the cake and everybody bubbling with excitement.

"You guys threw me a surprise party." Clint stated, a goofy smile plastering itself on his face.

"Of course! You thought you were going to get away with not telling anyone it was your big day?" Tony crowed, walking back to the table to grab the bottle of champagne. "Now blow your candles out!"

Clint grinned even more and took a big breath before blowing all the candles, eliciting a scattered round of applause.

" С Днем Рождения" Natasha said, giving Clint a kiss on the cheek as she herded him towards the kitchen table where Bruce set down the cake. Bruce went about looking for a knife, and started cutting the cake for everyone, while Tony handed Clint a glass of champagne.

Clint accepted the drink, but then his eyes found Phil's and his smile slipped just a little bit when he saw Phil's worried expression. Phil immediately hated himself for being the cause of losing that happy face, and he forced himself to grin big and warm, and radiate happiness. It seemed to work mostly, with Clint only arching an eyebrow slightly to say that he understood that there was something Phil would want to talk about, but not now, and he went back to smiling and accepting pieces of cake being shoved into his hands.

The rest of the impromptu party went surprisingly well for a group of erratic superheroes. They finished the cake, took off their jackets and ties and shoes and played some drinking games trying to get Steve and Thor drunk to no avail. Stark was too loud, but hilarious. Thor told his typical great tales of Asgard. Natasha put the fear of god into everyone in her scary version of 'pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey'. Even Bruce was coming out of his shell a bit, enough to make a joke that had Clint snorting on his drink and coughing while laughing for some good long minutes. Clint seemed happy and at ease with the whole situation. He was fine, drinking and laughing and just generally getting along with everyone.

And Phil couldn't stop watching him and expecting something to go wrong.

It wasn't until the small hours of the night, that everyone started thinking of winding down the party. Thor had just announced loudly that he should like to have sufficient time in knowing when the next birthday was, so he could appropriately plan the next feast when Natasha had ushered him up to his room, leaving Steve to drag a very drunk, and very sleepy Tony to bed. Bruce had already gone to his room, leaving a pretty drunk Clint alone with Coulson in the living room.

"Ho-kay, Phil," Clint started, slurring his words a little bit. "Wha's got your panties up ina bunch?" Phil was sitting on the sofa, which Clint took advantage of in order to crawl across his lap and settle himself against Phil. Phil smiled down at the easy spread of limbs, and started carding his fingers through Clint's hair while rubbing his upper back.

Phil was admiring Clint silently for too long, so Clint twisted around to look at Phil and said, "I saw your look earlier, Phil," He dragged the 'L' out on his name, and Phil couldn't help the rush of fondness that came over him at Clint's dopey smile. "Tell meee."

Phil chuckled when Clint followed that up with a wiggle of his butt. Phil gave him an affectionate whack, and Clint whined half-heartedly.

After a moment of silence between the two of them, Phil spoke up, "I got nervous when I found out how Natasha was bringing you to the party. With the blindfold."

Clint let his head thump down against Phil and breathed in deeply before lifting up and arranging himself so that he was straddling Phil's lap, level with his face. Phil was taken aback by how serious and sober Clint's expression had turned.

"Phil. I've told you this before. I only slip into subspace when I'm with you. Only you." Clint jabbed his pointer finger lightly into Phil's chest. He lowered his gaze and started playing with Phil's top shirt buttons as he said, "The blindfold simply makes it easier to slip into that headspace. But it's only because of you, because you're there." Clint looked back up at Phil and his gaze was honest and wholehearted.

Phil couldn't help himself from leaning forward and catching Clint's mouth in an open kiss, moaning softly when Clint let himself be explored by Phil's tongue. Phil's hands came up to either side of Clint's head, and framed his face, letting his thumbs trace along Clint's cheeks. Phil pulled back to rest his forehead on Clint's, breathing out shakily.

"Okay." Phil said.

"Okay? That's it? No argument?" Clint asked, disbelieving. Phil always had an argument on this topic.

"Not tonight, Clint." Phil murmured. He was semi-placated, but Phil put that down due to the fact that he was deeply emotionally involved, and that at this very moment, all he wanted was Clint, no matter what. "I don't want to argue tonight. I just really, _really_ , want to give you your birthday present."

Clint's smile turned wicked and he very deliberately rolled his hips against Phil's groin.

"Oooh, I think I really want to open this present." Clint rolled his hips again, but he was stopped by Phil's hands that had gripped him tightly.

"You're not going to be opening anything. Actually, I'm going to be the one opening things." Phil growled playfully, fingers digging into Clint's ass. Clint moaned and Phil took advantage of Clint's open mouth to kiss him filthily while Phil deftly unbuttoned Clint's pants. He could feel Clint getting interested, and pressed a palm against his cock for a moment before suddenly flipping Clint down onto the sofa beside him. Clint groaned at being manhandled so roughly as Phil tugged Clint's pants down, taking his underwear with them. Clint's shoes had been off for the better part of the evening, so Phil had no problem undressing Clint and throwing the clothes behind the sofa. Clint looked down his body to see Phil watching him with a lascivious smirk.

"Turn around." Phil ordered lowly. Clint almost whimpered at Phil's commanding voice, but he forced himself to flip over onto his stomach. When he'd settled, he felt Phil's hands roam up the backs of his calves, to the back of his knees, making him jerk reactively. Phil didn't stop his trek up Clint's legs, thumbs digging into Clint's thighs and dragging them up to the curve of his bare ass. When Phil's thumbs started dipping into Clint's crack, Clint moaned throatily, but was cut off by Phil spreading his ass cheeks.

"It's your birthday, Clint." Phil murmured softly, and Clint could feel his hot breath against his exposed rim, making Clint choke on a desperate whimper. "Is there anything you would like for your birthday?"

This time, Clint did whimper. Phil was using his 'competent voice', as Clint liked to call it, where Phil sounded like he was completely unaffected by the events, yet wouldn't hesitate to put him in his place.

"Pl-please?" Clint managed out, too distracted by Phil's breath on his skin to form any other coherent thought. The alcohol still in his system wasn't exactly making him focus any better, but as far as Clint was concerned, he was just fine with that so long as Phil was there.

"Please what? What do you want, Clint?" Phil asked coolly, fingers digging hard into the globes of flesh that was Clint's ass.

"You!" Clint cried out, arching his back a little to push his ass up higher, hopefully, into Phil's face. Phil chuckled and bit, none too gently, right on the swell of Clint's ass, making him cry out again, this time, a wordless sound.

Phil soothed the bite by licking over the sore spot, but then he kept licking over and over it, making Clint squirm with the sudden attention and overstimulation. Clint mumbled an approximation of Phil's name that turned into a gasp when Phil finally relented and licked a trail over Clint's rim.

Clint shuddered and whined at the short touch, and pushed his hips backwards again in search of Phil, but Phil was in control and he just pinned Clint down. He spread Clint out decadently and buried his face into Clint's ass as he got to work, licking and teasing and nipping at Clint's rim. In no time at all, Clint was reduced to a quivering, gasping tangle of limbs with every swipe of Phil's hot tongue against his sensitive, defenseless hole.

"Philll!" Clint slurred out when Phil started pushing his tongue lightly and teasingly into his hole. Every time that Clint thought Phil was going to stop playing and just go for it, he was proven frustratingly wrong when Phil pulled back only to lick or breathe a hot trail against him.

Clint's cock was hard and aching as he absently rubbed himself against the couch cushions. Phil was doing a fantastic job of making Clint melt into a desperate puddle of goo, and Clint couldn't help the broken whimpers that fell from his lips as Phil wound him up higher and higher.

Phil was actively thrusting his tongue in and out of Clint's puffy hole when he decided to lift Clint's hips up higher, bringing him closer and deeper to reach a hand around to grasp Clint's leaking cock. Clint jolted, as if he'd been hit with electricity, and immediately started writhing in Phil's grip, crying out wordless moans and whimpers. Phil took to slowly dragging his hand up and down his cock, thumb swiping the head to collect the leaking beads of precome, only to spread it down and around, making each slide slightly less rough. He didn't stop worrying at Clint's irritated hole, eating him out with the same sole focus he has on missions. Clint was babbling nonsense and fisting his hands into any pillow he could reach.

Phil made him dance on the edge for long moments, just savoring the wrecked mess he had made before him. Clint was stripped down completely and incoherently begging Phil for release, gasping out broken pleas and garbled moans. Phil finally smiled against Clint's skin and started pumping his hand faster, fisting Clint's cock almost brutally and causing him to cry out desperately at the onslaught of sensations. It only took and couple more thrusts of Phil's tongue and a twist of his wrist to make Clint come apart, shooting across Phil's hand while fucking Phil's fist wantonly. Clint didn't have enough breath to cry out, letting his mouth open in shock and pleasure.

Phil kept stroking him as Clint came down, gentling his movements until Clint whimpered and weakly pushed his hand away with clumsy fingers. Phil let go, but he couldn't resist licking into Clint's abused hole one last time, causing Clint to whine and shudder.

"Happy birthday to the ground." Phil murmured. It took a moment for Clint to realize that Phil had just made a joke reference, and when he got it, Clint snorted and started laughing hard. Phil joined in, chuckling as he rested his head against Clint's ass, but the ridiculousness of the moment just served to throw Clint into hysterical laughter, trying to drag in enough air in between bouts of uncontrollable amusement and shaking all over with the force of it all. It was too infectious, and soon Phil was laughing just as hard as Clint, arm wrapping around his own stomach in a vain attempt to calm down.

They both had a really hard time calming down from their sudden mirth, because every time one would gasp in enough air to hold it, they quickly fell back into hysterical giggles. They were in too good of a mood to come back down to reality yet, and they just fine with that, suddenly laughing and snorting when they couldn't breathe in enough air.

Somehow, during their hilarity, Clint managed to flip back onto his back and Phil slotted himself along Clint's side with an arm slung over Clint's rumbling chest. They were still giggling and chuckling as they tried to give each other kisses, but everything came out sloppy and slobbery, which just caused them to laugh even harder.

Eventually, they'd get up and find their way to their room, clean up and fall into bed together. But for now, they were simply sharing in a rare moment of pure happiness, smiling uncontrollably because of each other, and giggling into each other's faces.

For now, everything was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes? Good? Raise of hands, who's excited? :D


	4. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is spiraling downwards after a hard decision, and Phil doesn't know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings in the end notes.
> 
> Beta'd by [varjohaltija](http://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija), who is fantastic :D

Everything was bad.

"Singapore. Red, Coulson." Clint said, shakily.

Phil didn't know what hurt worse, the safeword, or the return to using his last name.

He nodded, and brought his arms in front of him, crossing them in a tell that he would never otherwise use, but he was too tired to care about it now. "I understand, Clint." Phil always made a point about honoring a safeword, even in this case. "Can I at least ask why?"

Clint's expression took on an even more miserable tone than before, which was really saying something. "Coulson, you know I can't."

"Clint, it wasn't your fault-" Phil tried, again.

But Clint immediately got defensive and interrupted him, snarling out, "Fuck you. Of course it was my fault. Fuck you for saying otherwise," Clint breathed in raggedly, and hunched into himself even more, making Phil's heart break all over again at seeing him in this state.

Clint suddenly seemed to deflate; the anger that had flared up so quickly melted out of his body leaving him with a bone-deep weariness that he'd been carrying around for the past two weeks.

"I don't deserve it, Phil." Clint whispered, closing his eyes in drained defeat. Phil could see the deep, dark shadows under his eyes more prominently now. It was half of the reason why he kept offering Clint this. Clint needed this, needed it so bad, but Clint kept refusing. Clint needed to go down, to level his head, to relax and be still, to give the reins to someone else, but he couldn't. Not in this state.

Which was exactly why he needed to.

"Of course you do, you-" Phil tried again, but he was cut off by the baleful look Clint shot him.

"No, Phil. I don't deserve any of it. I fucked it up, and I, I don’t-, I definitely don't deserve the p-, the peace it-, it comes with…" Clint stumbled over his words, and Phil could hear how wet his voice was getting.

"Just, no. Please." Clint begged one last time before he turned around and practically ran out of the room. Phil knew that he was going to have to track him down again via Jarvis through the vents later, if only to check up on him. Maybe convince him to eat or drink something. He wasn't hopeful he'd succeed.

Phil felt cold.

He sat down on the edge of their bed and buried his face in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes and taking savage pleasure in the way it hurt when he rubbed just a little too hard.

It wasn't fair. Two weeks ago, during their lastest battle, Clint had been faced with an impossible decision that he should have never had to make. And Clint had made it. The end result had been the death of twelve children; seven girls, five boys, all ages six through nine.

From an objective point of view, it had been the right call. Everybody knew it. Clint had saved thousands by making the call,- four thousand, six hundred and seventy-three to be exact, not including collateral and bad luck. Those were thousands that had their own children or that were children themselves. Twelve was nothing compared to that. Everybody knew it had been the right call.

Everybody knew there should've never have been a call to make in the first place.

Nobody envied Clint's decision. Nobody. He'd had no other choice in the matter. Everybody tried to convince him that he'd had no other choice in the matter. Phil tried to convince him that he had had no other choice in the matter. That it wasn't Clint's fault. That he should breathe. That he should stop this horrible downward spiral that was worse than anything he's ever been through,- worse than the time he'd had after the Battle of New York. He tried to convince him that he should eat. Sleep. Breathe. Take care of himself. Let himself be put down so that he can stop walking around like he's balancing precariously on the verge of death.

But Clint refuses it all. He's been wearing himself down to the point of absolute exhaustion, resolutely refusing to hear a word of reassurance that he's not to blame. He won't hear it, won't hear the advice, the suggestions, the pleading, the begging, the orders, the care and love and worry from his friends. From Phil. 

Clint is slowly killing himself with neglect, and Phil can't do anything but watch in horror as Clint fades away.

Each day gets worse, gets harder to convince Clint, gets more and more desperate. No one knows what to do anymore. Phil doesn't know what to do anymore.

Phil realized he'd been practically pulling his hair out, and forced himself to relax his fingers one by one and let his hands drop in his lap. He tried to think.

The stillness of the room made him feel sick. Clint hadn't slept in their bed since the battle. Phil was pretty sure Clint hadn't _been_ sleeping _anywhere_ for that matter.

He let himself flop backwards onto the mattress as he scrunched his eyes up again, desperately trying to think of some way to help Clint, or at the very least, help Clint help himself. He rubbed his eyes again, watching the dancing lights across his eyelids when he pressed hard enough. He could still see the shadows of the lights when he opened his eyes, and he waited for a moment to clear his sight.

When he could see clearly again, he realized he'd been looking at the dresser on the right side of the room. Specifically, he'd been staring at the drawer where the two of them kept their toys. Lifting himself up slowly, Phil kept his gaze on the drawer. He made his way around the bed and towards the dresser, only to stop right in front of it and pull open the drawer before he knew what he was doing.

Inside of the drawer he saw all the things they liked to play with; a variety of dildos and vibrators that they've been collecting over time, a few butt plugs of medium sizes, anal beads, cock rings, an assortment of rope, a variety of gags, clamps and a collection of blindfolds.

Phil picked up one of the blindfolds, their favorite one, and ran his fingers across the soft, thick fabric of it. An idea was slowly forming in his mind, and he didn't like it. It left too many variables open, and Clint would probably hate him for it afterwards, but he needed to do something. Drastic measures needed to be taken if Clint was going to get through this, even if it meant breaking the trust that Clint had put in him.

He just had to hope that Clint would forgive him one day.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Phil had enlisted the help of the rest of the Avengers.

He thought it might be overkill, seeing as he really only needed Natasha and Steve or Thor, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. He figured the others would want to help in any way they could even if it just meant being there for moral support. An intervention of some sort.

He had asked Jarvis to herd Clint towards the common room, where they were all waiting quietly. Tony had helped out with that, StarkPad in hand as they both directed air vents and locked grates or doors, turning on and off the air conditioning at random intervals to help Clint along to his destination. For a moment, Phil had been terrified that Clint wouldn't bother moving out of the way for things like the spinning blades of the air conditioning, but he tamped down the fear when it was confirmed that Clint was indeed moving through the vents. Thor, Bruce and Steve were all standing strategically near the exits for the common room, and Natasha was near the vent they assumed Clint would rest over, if not climb out of.  Phil was on the other side, blindfold gripped tightly in his right hand, while Tony paced back and forth by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Phil immediately noticed when Tony stopped pacing; Tony looked up from his tablet and caught Phil's eye by pointing a finger upwards towards the ceiling. They waited a couple of moments on bated breath to see if Clint would come down himself or if they were going to have to go up after him.

It turned out that he was going to come down himself when they saw a ceiling tile being shifted and Clint flipping over to land silently on the floor after somehow shifting the tile back in its place. It was a testament to how bad off Clint was, that he didn't realize they were all in there with him until he straightened up and caught sight of six pairs of eyes on him.

"What the fuck?" Clint asked. He probably meant it to sound biting, but it just came out tired and worn out.

Phil was the only one to move, stepping forward slightly, saying, "Clint, we just want to help you."

Clint's eyes immediately snapped to Phil's, but then his gaze fell on the blindfold still clutched in his hand, and Clint's eyes widened with panic as he slipped into a defensive pose. That was the cue for Natasha to step around behind Clint and lunge at him.

Clint hadn't been expecting the attack, but he still managed to dodge and slip out of her attempted grip. He broke into action, ignoring everyone who called out to him and flung himself over the couch to run towards Bruce's exit, the most obvious way for him to get out. He didn't quite make it before Thor's arms clamped down on Clint's shoulders and pushed him onto the floor. Clint yelled out something inarticulate and twisted himself out of Thor's grasp, elbowing the demi-god in the face in the process. He delivered a neat kick to the side of Thor's neck for good measure before springing back up and running towards Bruce again. This time, however, Natasha was on the other side of Bruce, and Clint made a last second adjustment to evade her by feigning to the right, but just as he started twisting to the left, Steve was there, arms completely enveloping Clint's entire torso.

Clint bucked and thrashed, but Steve was too strong and in his weakened state, Clint was unable to shake him off. Steve gently kneed the backs of Clint's legs and robbed him of his balance, bringing him down with him to kneel on the floor, still wrapped up in Steve's arms.

"Let go!" Clint cried out as he squirmed in Steve's tight grasp, but the fight was very quickly draining from him, and they all could see just how bad a shape he was in. Whatever burst of adrenaline he'd had was rapidly fading as he desperately tried to struggle free.

All of a sudden, Natasha was kneeling in front of Clint, both hands on either side of his face, holding him still and preventing him from thrashing back and forth. Clint couldn't bear to see Natasha's expression of concern and worry, and started shouting out loud and pushing against her grip while futilely twisting in Steve's.

"Clint, stop, please." Steve begged, while Natasha said the same in Russian. Clint only screamed in frustration, chest heaving with constricted breath as Steve made no move to lighten his iron grip.

"Clint." Phil tried, getting closer to the three. If anything, Clint started panting faster and struggling harder when he heard Phil's voice.

"No, no, nonononono." Clint moaned in between harsh breaths. 

"Clint, breathe, Расслабься." Natasha murmured to Clint, trying to calm him down, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Clint, I'm sorry." Phil said softly as he approached, unwinding the blindfold from his grip.

Clint snapped his eyes from the blindfold to Phil's face and begged him, "Please, no, Coulson, please, nonono, Phil! Please!" Clint was wild and completely panicked, caged on all sides and unable to escape.

Natasha held onto Clint's face, keeping him still, but she moved slightly to the side to leave room for Phil. Phil approached and knelt down so that he was level with Clint, all the while keeping eyes locked with Clint's, trying to radiate calmness and peace to his terror-filled and frantic sub.

"Please, Phil! No, no, stop, I can't-, no, I can't, _I can't_!" Clint was slurring his speech and losing his instinctual fight against Steve. Phil didn't know how he'd ever forgive himself if he heard Clint use his safeword now.

He apologized softly again and lifted the blindfold to Clint's face, held immobile by Natasha. Everyone held their breath and went dead silent as Phil covered Clint's eyesight with the blindfold and quickly buckled the strap behind his head.

The effect was immediate.

Clint stopped struggling, and all they could hear in the room was his ragged breathing interspersed by broken gasps.

"Steve, Natasha, let him go." Phil whispered, eyes never leaving Clint. Natasha dropped her hands from Clint's face, and Steve gently relaxed his grip scooting backwards on his knees to give Clint his space.

Clint whimpered, completely lost in his head with everyone backed off. Phil's heart clenched at the soft back and forth rocking that Clint started doing.

After another moment, Clint finally opened his mouth and barely whimpered out, "Phil?"

That was what Phil had been waiting for, and he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Clint to pull him into his chest and say, "It's me, I'm right here, you're safe, it's okay."

As soon as Phil reassured him, Clint went completely boneless, limp in Phil's embrace as his breathing dramatically slowed and settled. It was a matter of seconds before Clint was completely down-, the fastest he'd ever slipped into subspace-, and it was the most heartbreaking thing any of them had ever seen.

Phil kept up the litany of soft reassurances as he let Clint bury his face into Phil's neck and shoulder. Phil's hands couldn't decide between holding Clint close or running up and down to stroke and pet Clint. Clint was silent as he breathed deeply and evenly, body starting to tremble under the release of all his pent-up stress and exhaustion.

Phil didn't notice when Tony seemed to take over order in the room, directing Thor and Steve to bring a mattress, and asking Bruce to grab food and water from the kitchen. Phil barely registered how Tony and Natasha silently agreed on moving the furniture around the living room, pushing the sofas to the walls and moving the tables out of the way.

Clint's trembling had progressed to flat-out, uncontrollable shaking by the time Thor and Steve came back, two huge mattresses under each arm. They arranged the mattresses into the space provided, and Thor disappeared again. Bruce was back and organizing his bounty on the closest table to the makeshift bed before handing a Gatorade to Natasha to give to Phil.

Phil took the drink gratefully and intoned, "C'mon, sweetie, drink this." He maneuvered Clint enough to free his face from the safety of Phil's chest and helped tip the bottle into Clint's slack mouth. Some of it dribbled out while Clint drank greedily. Clint finished the bottle easily, but Phil wanted to move him before giving him more.

"Clint, follow me." Phil softly ordered and helped Clint to weakly crawl to the mattresses on the floor, never once letting go, always touching Clint. Phil didn't let Clint lie down yet, quietly commanding him to wait. Clint followed each order blindly and immediately, only letting out a satisfied sigh when he completed each order.

Phil accepted another bottle of Gatorade from Bruce and he helped Clint drink that one too, though he made him slow down. Clint finished the whole thing before slumping against Phil, clearly too out of it to do more. They'd have to wait until later to get some food into him.

Thor came back with a mountain of blankets and quilts in his arms, and deposited them near Phil and Clint. Phil looked up at him at that and had "Thank you" on his lips before he realized just how much everybody was helping around the room: Tony was arranging a movie in the background, the sound so low Phil could barely hear it, Bruce and Natasha were still arranging the furniture and foodstuff, making it so everything was in easy reach, Steve was spreading out sheets and blankets across the mattresses and Thor had turned off most of the lights in the room, leaving it dimly lit and peaceful.

Phil looked back down at Clint who was waiting so patiently as ordered, even though he was clearly exhausted and wrung out. He was still shaking, though, and Phil immediately snapped out of it when Steve gently pressed a thick, fluffy quilt into Phil's hands with a smile.

"Thank you." Phil finally managed, meaning the words so completely and for everyone. Steve just smiled and turned back to his tending, as Phil wrapped the quilt around Clint, rubbing his back and arms and gathering him against his chest again.

Clint burrowed into him once more, and sighed, sounding like he had let go of every last thought that had plagued him for too long. Natasha sat down next to Phil with a bottle of water and silently handed it to Phil. Phil took it with a look of thanks and drained it quickly. He gave the empty bottle back to Natasha who made it disappear, and returned to focus on Clint.

"Let's lie you down, okay? Come here, there we go, easy." Phil eased Clint onto his side, lying down beside him as well, and let Clint latch onto him with weak hands. Clint's shaking finally eased, with only the occasional shudder running out its course. Phil curled his body around Clint's and murmured praises into Clint's hair, telling him how much he loved him, and how good Clint was. He kept talking long after he knew that Clint had finally fallen asleep.

When Phil looked up again, he saw that the rest of the Avengers had sprawled out on the mattresses as well, bundled up like burritos and munching on snacks. They surrounded Phil and Clint and everyone was touching everyone somehow, like a long train of reassurances through contact. He traded glances with each of them, and they all smiled tentatively at him. He knew what they were hoping; maybe tonight was the night that made a difference. 

Phil certainly hoped it was. As he looked at Clint, finally calm and resting in his arms, he had to believe that he'd made the right choice. He hoped that Clint would see it too.

For now, if it was all Phil would have left, Clint was in his arms, safe and sound.

~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~

Phil woke up warm.

It was still dark outside, but he knew it was almost sunrise. He shifted slightly and was pleased to find that the source of all that sleepy warmth was Clint's body that was wrapped around his. Phil blinked open his eyes to see Clint snuggled into his chest, and a wave of fondness washed over him. It wasn't until a niggling memory was blown wide open that Phil suddenly remembered the events of the previous night.

Of course, that was right about the time that Phil realized that Clint was awake and pretending to be sleeping. It had been a barely imperceptive tightening of Clint's grip on Phil, but he had felt it nonetheless.

"Clint?" Phil murmured softly, still aware of the other sleeping Avengers around them.

Phil thought Clint might ignore him and feign sleep until Phil gave up, but he was proven wrong when Clint made a soft sound and deliberately tightened his grip in order to bury himself deeper against Phil.

"Hey, sweetie." Phil pressed a kiss lightly on Clint's head and brought his hand up to cup Clint's neck, letting his fingers dig in gently to massage him. Clint gave a shiver and moaned quietly in response. Any other morning, Phil would have happily continued to explore and caress every inch of Clint's body and proceed to make him into a lovely puddle of pleasure, but right now his heart was beating too fast with the fear of what Clint would say once he was up and more awake.

Clint, apparently, was more coherent and alert than Phil thought, when he snuck a hand around to press it flat on Phil's chest, right over his hard-beating heart.

"Stop that." Clint whispered. Phil's fingers abruptly went limp and slipped off of Clint's neck, as his whole body stiffened in response. His next breath got stuck in his throat and he suddenly had to fight the pressure that was building behind his eyes. He would _not_ cry. He'd made his decision, and it was time to own up to it.

"I'm sorry," Phil mumbled, slowly inching his way out of Clint's space even though it hurt him to do it. "I'll, I'll take off the blindfold if you want, and I'll let the others know that,-" Phil's rambling was cut off by Clint suddenly pushing against Phil's chest, so that Phil flipped onto his back, and Clint was on top of him completely, an unmovable deadweight.

"I said, ' _stop that'_." Clint growled. Phil was almost impressed by how intimidating Clint sounded, given that he was flopped over Phil, and blinded.

"What?" Phil asked reflexively.

Clint pressed his hand down over Phil's heart again, saying, " _That_. Blaming yourself. For, for what you did last night…" Clint trailed off, and Phil could see how utterly exhausted Clint still was.

Understanding slowly dawned on Phil as he realized what Clint really meant. "You're not… you're not mad?" The disbelief in his voice was too raw.

Clint dropped his face down to rest his forehead right on top of Phil's chest and he shook his head from side to side. Phil's arms automatically came up to hold and balance Clint because he was wobbling a little too much.

"Clint, I violated your trust, and I put you down when you didn't want it. I convinced everyone else to gang up on you." Phil pointed out, but couldn't help the way his thumbs were rubbing back and forth on Clint's arms.

"Phil…you took… _care_ of me. Even…even when I didn't think I needed it, or, or wanted it…" Clint paused to breathe in deeply, "You always take care of me. I can't be mad at that. So you should stop, _this_." Clint thumped his head lightly on Phil's still racing heartbeat.

Phil stopped rubbing his thumbs along Clint's skin in favor of curling his fingers around Clint's arms. "If…if I can learn to stop blaming myself, then you should too, Clint." Phil whispered firmly.

Clint froze. Phil could feel his chest starting to heave a little bit as his breathing picked up. Phil didn't know if he could handle throwing Clint into another panic attack, so he returned his hand to the back of Clint's neck, tightening possessively there, while the other snaked around Clint's torso and squeezed gently in order to make him feel pinned against Phil.

"Easy, Clint. Relax." Clint, despite himself, was returning to calmness; really, he was already on the verge, and it didn't take much to get him to settle properly. "We can work on it. Together. Baby steps, okay?"

Clint let out a shuddering breath as the last of the flared up adrenaline was released. "Promise?" he slurred out, half out of it again.

"I promise, Clint. Just let me take care of you." Phil murmured, relaxing his fingers again to card through Clint's hair, mindful of the blindfold's buckle. "Are you sure you don't want me to take it off?" Phil asked, rubbing a finger beneath the fabric that ran around Clint's head.

"No, I wan' it on." Clint sighed, turning his head slightly so that Phil's fingers could reach a new spot to scratch. "Feels good." Clint's body was getting heavy, but Phil didn't mind it.

"Okay, we can leave it on. Just go back to sleep, okay?" Phil was already mentally sorting out which foods would be the best to present to Clint, and in which order, so that he could regain the weight that he'd lost.

"Mm'kay." Clint's head started to loll, so Phil very carefully eased Clint back down beside him, making sure that he was still covered with the thick blankets.

"Phil?" Clint mumbled.

"Yes?" Phil couldn't help but stretch a smile at Clint's sleepy attempts to stay awake.

"Than' you…for ev'rything."

Phil thought Clint had it wrong; it should be _Phil_ telling Clint how much he was grateful. How every moment Clint chose to spend with him was a gift. How the very fact that Clint trusted him, _still_ trusted him, was the most treasured possession Phil had. How the fact that Clint chose to be Phil's was the most valuable thing in Phil's life.

"I love you, Clint." Phil whispered, but Clint was already asleep again.

Phil closed his eyes and waited to follow Clint back into sleep, feeling each beat of his heart as it finally slowed down to its even rhythm. He pointedly ignored the fact that his confession had been heard by at least three other people in the room who were giving Phil and Clint their privacy by pretending to be unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Clint's mental and physical state are really bad after his decision causes the death of children, so Phil puts him down even when Clint tells him not to and uses a safeword. If you'd like a more detailed outline, let me know.


	5. Dubai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Clint gets kidnapped, Phil worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [varjohaltija](http://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija) :D
> 
> Enjoy!!!!

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Phil barked out at the newbie sub in front of him. "Explain to me how you _lost_ Agent Barton." He was trying very hard to keep his face as neutral as possible, but it was getting hard as the urge to punch the young agent grew.

"He, um, said, 'Budapest', and then the communications went offline, sir. We haven't heard from him in thirteen minutes. Sir." The newbie looked just about ready to piss himself. Luckily, at the word 'Budapest', Phil suddenly had a better understanding of the whole situation, and lost the urge to hurt and maim the agent. More or less.

It didn't take long for Phil to swiftly take over this mess of an operation. He should have never let Clint go off on this "training mission" organized by the lower level agents. Though, thinking about it, he supposed it would have been better to have a high-ranking agent out in the field, who knew what he was doing.

Especially when he got kidnapped by a third party.

Fortunately, the third party ended up being some local thugs from Eastern Europe, who had a base here for some reason. They weren't particularly difficult to track down. Phil had decided to join the rescue party, to ensure that no other mistakes were made.

They surrounded a warehouse, and really? A _warehouse_? Bad guys couldn't find a better place to hold their hostages? Preferably a place with indoor plumbing? Whatever, Phil was just happy that they had gotten the blueprints of the place, and that strategically, this was the least guarded place to be holed up in, despite the two big guys in matching tracksuits at the front and back entrance.

Phil gave the signal, and his team moved into position. He breathed in, _one, two,_ and on _three_ , both of the guards fell silently to the ground. A few more hand signals, and they were at the entrances.

Phil slowly pushed open the door just a crack, enough to peer inside to do a quick evaluation of the room. He counted seven thugs, three on the far side, and four in the middle of the room, two of which were holding Clint down on his knees between them while another one talked. The fourth guy was holding up some intimidating tools, meant as a scare tactic.

The sharp knife and dentist tools didn't faze Phil in the slightest; the thing that freaked him out was the fact that Clint was blindfolded, on his knees, and not struggling to get away.

He suddenly feared that Clint had slipped into subspace.

Breathing in raggedly, Phil forced himself to look back on his team. He held his breath, and refocused on the mission at hand; rescue Agent Barton.

When he was sure he was steady again, Phil nodded to his team, and started a countdown with his fingers.

 _Three, two, one_.

It was too easy. The thugs obviously hadn't known what they had stumbled onto, which was just fine with Phil. It meant that his rescue team had no problem taking care of them, and securing the place in less than a minute.

Once the targets were down, Phil quickly made his way over to Clint.

"Agent Barton? Report." Phil asked, the worry in his voice audible. He was frantically planning on how to bring Clint back up, and how to salvage this mission when his thoughts screeched to a halt.

Clint's head was tilted up towards Phil, and he had on the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

"Took you long enough, boss." Clint snickered.

"Are you okay?" Phil asked, confusion clouding his mind. Clint looked fine. He looked absolutely fine. He was a bit dirty, but it didn't look like he had a scratch on him, and he appeared alert and professionally calm.

"Peachy, boss. Idiots didn't have a clue what they were doing. Practically gave me some awesome intel on top of that." Clint paused and tilted his head the other way, still facing Phil. "You gonna stand there all night, or do I get to be untied?"

Phil started, and immediately crouched down behind Clint, fingers deftly finding easy knots and undoing them quickly. He cleared his throat and for lack of something better to say, grumbled out, "You could have gotten out of these, Barton."

He undid the last loop, and Clint's hands were free. "I know, but maybe I just wanted you to work a bit." Clint wiggled his butt for emphasis and brought his hands up behind his head to rip off the makeshift blindfold that Phil could now recognize as a torn piece of shirt.

When Clint whipped his head around to look at Phil, it jarred Phil to see how obviously clear and sharp Clint's eyes were.

"Missed me?" Clint grinned, raising himself up and offering a hand to help Phil stand. Phil took it dazedly, letting Clint help him up. Phil couldn't think of a response to that in time, and Clint caught it. His grin faltered a bit and concern started creeping into his facial expression.

Phil tried to choke out a witty joke, but every one of them tasted too stale in his mouth, and he felt a little too raw and exposed to keep up their usual banter. A flicker of understanding crossed Clint's face, and he ducked his head a little bit, trying to sooth Phil.

That, more than anything, finally snapped Phil back to the present; Clint shouldn't have to be reassuring Phil like that, not out in the field.

"Dubai Team, target rescue Flybird is secured. Rendezvous ETA fifteen minutes." Phil spoke clearly into his microphone. He heard confirmation and barked out the orders to the rescue team. Clint looked like he wanted to say something, but he elected to keep his mouth shut for the moment.

The ride back to base was quiet, with both Phil and Clint stealing glances at each other, but not saying anything. They got through the debrief quietly, with Clint telling them about the information he managed to glean from the thugs, and about the operation that they're planning. It was good intel, and Phil knew that it was going to help tremendously for another ongoing mission of SHIELD's that Phil wasn't a part of.

Which was why, when the debrief was finishing up, and all the agents had their orders to come back to headquarters, Phil requested that he and Barton have a few days leave. Clint had snapped his head up at that, but other than a curious look towards Phil, said nothing. Maria Hill, who was leading the debrief from back home via video conference, looked at Phil shrewdly, but after a few moments of consideration, permitted the request, telling them they had a week. 

With everything wrapped up, Phil grabbed his and Clint's belongings and threw them in the small, beat-up car that they had 'borrowed' for the mission. Phil got into the driver's seat, and waited until Clint climbed into the passenger's side before putting the car in motion and driving to their safe house.

Clint opened his mouth to start a conversation, but Phil gave him a look that clearly said _wait_ , so he opted to turn on the radio instead, surfing through the frequencies and humming along with the local music. 

By the time they had parked and entered the safe house, Clint was brimming with nervous energy and finally blurted out, "Am I getting punished for getting caught? Because I totally had it under control and knew what I was do-"

"Sit." Phil interrupted swiftly, and Clint immediately sat down in an old wooden chair in the small kitchen. "Shirt off, please." Clint warily shrugged off his shirt, but seemed to settle a bit when Phil started tracing along his skin.

Phil checked Clint over, fingers running up and down everywhere he could reach. There were only a couple of scratches and some small bruises, but Phil had a feeling that Clint had sustained those before getting kidnapped. He still carefully brushed his fingers over them, wincing a bit at the fact that Clint was hurt, no matter how little.

 It wasn't until Phil found himself kneeling in front of him, that Clint stopped his tracks by cupping his face and forcing Phil to look up at him. Clint looked worried, his head cocked to the side in a silent beg for answers.

Phil closed his eyes and finally slumped forward, letting his head drop to Clint's thigh. "I got… _scared_." Phil breathed out. He heard and felt Clint take a deep breath and his hands shifted from Phil's cheeks, to cradle his head and gently scratch his scalp. Clint waited for Phil to go on, so he did.

"You were doing fine with the operation one moment, giving the newbies a good run for their money," Clint gave a dry chuckle at that, "and then you…weren't. The moment I found out you'd been taken, Clint…" he trailed off. Clint gave an encouraging squeeze at the nape of his neck. "It bugged me, obviously, but I trust you, and I knew you had it under control, Clint. It was just, when I saw you…on your knees between, between them, and you weren't fighting, Clint. You were blindfolded, and you weren't fighting, just kneeling there, not fighting." Phil was mumbling at this point.

Clint, ever so gently, exerted enough pressure on Phil's head so that he'd tip back to look him in the eyes. Phil could see how Clint's worry was still there, but it was mostly replaced by a look of pure determination that usually was only ever seen when he's shooting arrows.

"We're going to have this conversation for the last time, Phil." Clint spoke assuredly. Phil straightened his back a little bit at that, but let him go on. "I. Only. Go. Into. Subspace. When. I'm. With. You." Clint pointedly punctuated each word, never once taking his eyes off of Phil. His gaze was so piercing that Phil almost wanted to look away.

"Phil, you should know by now, that I'm a little more high maintenance than other subs." He offered a mischievous smile at that, but it turned back serious. "I _can't_ go down unless I feel safe. And I pretty much only ever truly feel safe with you. _With you_." Clint urged.

Phil kept looking at him, at his earnest face and searching eyes. He felt Clint's grip on his face, sure and steady, and his entire being was pure confidence.

It was enough to make Phil finally accept it.

He didn't know how his expression must have changed, but Clint saw it the moment Phil finally understood, and his face stretched into a wide, giddy smile. Phil couldn't help but grin back and lay his cheek on Clint's thigh, still looking up at Clint.

"I love you." Phil said, surprising himself with how fiercely he suddenly felt. "I fucking love you so much."

Clint cupped Phil's face again and looked absolutely thrilled as he angled Phil's face and bent himself over to kiss him warmly and thoroughly.  

"Fuck, Phil. I love you too." Clint breathed out against Phil's lips in between frantic kisses.

Phil couldn't help smiling into the kisses, which just served to make them sloppy and messy, in turn making Clint smile back.

"I think we should probably get cleaned up." Phil observed, feeling all the grime and dried sweat from the past few hours, and knowing that Clint had to be feeling it more. Clint nodded and Phil took over with ease, lifting himself up and taking Clint's hand to pull him to his feet and lead him down the hall, through the bedroom and into the bathroom. He ordered Clint to finish stripping with a wink, and Clint made a horribly clichéd show out of it, resulting in Phil laughing and almost tripping as he efficiently took off his own clothes.

Phil noticed Clint's cock starting to fill out, and he groaned softly at how much he wanted to put his mouth on him. "C'mon." Phil practically pushed Clint into the shower and got the water running. Clint made as if to start washing himself, but suddenly Phil felt a need to do that for him, so he growled out a sharp, "No." and took the soap from Clint's hands. He didn't miss the way Clint's eyes darkened with a flash of lust, but Phil wasn't going to give in just yet.

Phil was methodical in cleaning Clint like he is with everything else in his life. He knew Clint was getting hornier and more restless at Phil's brutal efficiency, and Phil was definitely not unaffected by Clint's soft moans and whines. It was only when  just Clint's ass was left to clean, that he turned Clint around and pushed Clint face-first against the wall, pinning him there with a hand between his shoulder blades.

Clint moaned loudly in his throat at the rough treatment, and Phil could see how he was fruitlessly rocking his hips up and down against the wall.

"Stay still. We have to make sure you're completely clean, don't we?" Phil remarked, taking care to sound nonchalant, solely for the purpose of seeing Clint stutter his hips. Clint's hands were bunching into fists by his side, but Phil wanted more, so he grabbed both wrists and crossed them over one another behind Clint's back, pushing against them to continue pinning him, leaving him trapped and exposed. The hitch in Clint's breath was worth it.

Phil allowed his fingers to trace along Clint's ass, absently stroking up and down his crack, but not delving in deeper until Clint whimpered and tried pushing his hips back. Phil gave up his teasing, and he started rubbing back and forth across his hole a few strokes before finally nudging the tip of his finger inside. He wasn't expecting Clint to suddenly shove backwards and force Phil's finger in all the way to the knuckle.

"Clint." Phil warned, pushing up on Clint's wrists to make him gasp in pain. He watched Clint rock up onto his tiptoes in order to ease the position, but Phil only relaxed when Clint whimpered out a quiet, "S-sorry."

Phil left a wet kiss on Clint's shoulder and started fingering Clint, loving the throaty gasps and groans he was forcing out of Clint. Phil went slowly, because the shower wasn't exactly the ideal place to be opening Clint up, but Clint didn't seem to mind as he subtly rocked back onto Phil's fingers, looking for more friction.

By the time Phil had stretched Clint enough for three fingers, he slipped his fingers out, earning a plaintive whine from Clint, but he shushed him quickly when he started pushing in a butt plug.

"Wha-, what?" Clint started gasping out as Phil twisted and pushed the plug in. "Wh-where did tha' even come from?" His confusion was warring with his impressed amusement, but he choked on a moan when Phil pushed it in all the way, leaving the flared bottom snug against Clint's ass.

"Don't worry about it." Phil growled as he pressed along Clint's back, his own hard cock nudging the base of the plug. He sucked a bruise high on Clint's neck, and Clint bucked backwards, trying to feel more of Phil. "I think you're clean enough. For now." Phil smirked as he said that, and he could feel Clint shiver at the implications.

It was easy to maneuver Clint out of the shower, and Phil quickly dried them both off, prodding Clint to walk naked to the bedroom where he ordered Clint to lie down on his back.

Clint hastened to obey, eyes on Phil, watching as Phil bent over to their discarded clothes and slipped out his belt from the loops of his pants. He then stalked over to Clint and demanded, "Hands."

Wrists were offered to Phil, and it was too easy to tie them together, secure, but not too tight. Phil then pulled Clint's arms upwards and tied the belt to the headboard. He looked down to see Clint grinning and panting in arousal as he tested the belt, muscles in his arms bulging, and found that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Satisfied, Phil turned to dig through their clothes again, this time pulling out his tie.

When Phil turned back to Clint, he could see how dilated Clint's pupils had gone, and had no question or worries on his judgment of crawling on top of the bed and tying the tie over Clint's eyes, effectively blindfolding him.

Clint moaned and arched his back off the bed, shaking his head back and forth to test how secure the tie was. It was very secure, and Phil wasted no more time, diving straight into what he'd been dying to do; worship every last inch of Clint's body. He started by kissing Clint's face, lips pressing gently against each covered eyelid, and made his way around to dominateClint's mouth wholeheartedly, pulling soft whimpers and easy sounds out of him. He peppered Clint's neck with gentle love bites and licked over them in reassurance. He sucked the drops of water that still rolled out of Clint's hair, and he blew cool trails across his pebbled skin, making Clint shiver in delight each time.

Phil spent a long time on Clint's nipples and chest, playing with him until he was beyond sensitive and tender and couldn't help but twitch at every pass and twist and pinch that Phil relentlessly delivered. Seeing Clint turning into a panting, writhing mess was everything that Phil thought was perfect in the world. As Phil sucked more bites around Clint's chest, still torturing red and swollen nipples, he could feel and hear how Clint's breathing gradually changed, growing heavier and deeper. Phil absolutely loved it when he could see Clint obviously going down, lost in his pleasure, and giving up his body's reactions to Phil's control. Phil smiled against Clint's skin, unable to not feel humbled and eternally grateful to the man underneath him.

Phil kissed a trail down Clint's stomach to nose into his groin. He spent a while licking up and down Clint's hard cock, sucking the tip and licking up the precome that pearled there. He used his hands to pull against Clint's ass, tapping against the base of the plug and making Clint whimper and twitch his hips. Phil thought about getting Clint off like this, but when he looked up and saw Clint's mouth slack and open, lips red from being bitten and slick with saliva, Phil knew what he wanted to do.

He lifted himself up, ignoring the soft whine of objection from Clint, and he scooted up until he was straddling Clint's chest; he gave Clint's nipples one last tweak before sitting his ass down on top of them.

"I know what you want." Phil murmured, grabbing his cock and tracing Clint's lips with the tip. Clint surged upwards, tongue sticking out, in a desperate move to mouth at Phil's cock, but Phil just chuckled and with his other hand, he grabbed Clint's throat and gently pushed him back down onto the mattress. "That's what I thought." Phil smirked when Clint let out a frustrated noise.

He went back to teasing Clint, tracing his cock around Clint's mouth, but not letting him lick or take him in his mouth. "You want it, don't you?" Clint nodded as best as he could with Phil's hand still lightly holding onto his neck. "You want me to fuck your mouth, make you take it, force myself down your throat and hold you still as I come. Isn't that right?" Phil drawled.

Phil thought for a moment that the belt wasn't going to hold, with the way that Clint was pulling on it.

"Let me hear you say it." Phil demanded, voice rough with arousal.

He knew how hard it was for Clint to speak when he was down, but it was completely worth it when Clint whimpered out, "Y-yesss, pleeeeease," and Phil gave in, letting his cock invade Clint's mouth completely. Clint moaned, utterly blissed out as Phil adjusted himself to loom over him, hands pinning Clint's wrists down, pushing him deeper into the bed, and figuring out the perfect angle to slide in and out of his mouth. As he settled into an easy rhythm, he looked up to see and feel Clint's fingers clenching hard around the headboard, so Phil gently pried them open and interlocked his fingers with Clint's, still able to push him down, but feeling more connected with him.

Clint was in ecstasy, Phil thought, from the muffled noises Clint was making. Phil decided to really give him what he wanted, and started thrusting harder and deeper, gagging him and loving the choked sounds Clint couldn't help making. When Phil would pull back, Clint would gasp raggedly but immediately try to swallow Phil again, head surging upwards for more. It didn't matter that Clint was drooling, or gagging on every thrust in his throat; it was perfect.

It was too perfect, because Clint kept swallowing around him, and Phil was losing his ability to hold off. He thrust in, brutally, a few more times before he shoved himself down and held himself there, coming hard down Clint's throat, and feeling Clint desperately convulsing as he tried to handle the sudden burst.

Phil pulled out, and was pleased to see how wrecked Clint looked, with a trail of come connecting his cock to Clint's mouth. Clint was breathing was raspy and hoarse, but he looked so euphoric, a sloppy grin plastered on his face. Phil couldn't help but leaning down to filthily kiss him, tasting himself and licking at Clint's mouth.

When Phil pulled back, it seemed to act as a reminder to Clint how unbearably stimulated he was, because Clint cried out and started trying to arch off the bed. He must have been really desperate, because he started begging, "Pleeeeease, le' me, le'me, le'me," Clint slurred out, words turning incoherent as they mixed in with moans and whimpers.

"Hmmm? Let you what?" Phil teased as he got off of Clint to get on his side, propping up on his elbow to trace his fingers lazily across Clint's body. Clint couldn't respond with words, simply gasping when Phil focused his attention on Clint's abused nipples.

"Oh, let you come? Is that what you want?" Phil asked teasingly. He wasn't going to get much contribution from Clint's end of the conversation, too preoccupied with dealing with the gasps, shudders and whines Phil was pulling out of him. So Phil continued on, unperturbed by the lack of response.

"I know that’s what you want. You want to come, but you won't until I let you, will you?" Clint whined spectacularly as Phil snuck a hand down between his legs, past his balls, to play with the plug. "Oh, I know what you want. You want me to fuck you." He twisted the plug and Clint pushed his hips up off the bed. "You want me to grab your legs, push them up by your ears, bent completely in half, helpless and you want me to pound you deep and hard, take everything I give you whether you think you can or not. Am I close?" Clint moaned desperately, his arms bulging again, threatening the belt's hold.

"And the kicker would be that I wouldn't touch your pretty little cock.'" Phil stopped playing the plug in order to fondle Clint's heavy balls, noting how full they were. "You would have to come from me fucking you, or you wouldn't get to come _at all_." Phil squeezed his balls gently, and Clint shouted something, shaking in Phil's grasp. "Hmmm, yes, that's it. Of course, you'd come. You wouldn't be able to hold yourself back, would you? And then I'd lean over and lick up the huge mess that you'd make." Phil trailed his fingers around and around Clint's groin, never touching Clint's cock. "I'd lick it all up, every drop, and then I'd kiss you, so you could experience how utterly amazing, and delicious you taste."

Clint was going wild, shuddering non-stop and moaning hysterically when he couldn't get Phil to touch him. "Is that what you want, Clint? To come?"

Phil barely brushed the pads of his fingers along Clint's cock before Clint was painfully arching off the bed, screaming as he came spectacularly. Phil finally closed his hand around Clint and stroked him through his orgasm, watching as Clint spurted all over himself, reaching his chest and still coming. Phil's hand was covered in pearly white as he milked Clint every last drop he had to give, watching how sensitive Clint quickly became, jarring him with exhausted pleasure.

Phil reached up to Clint's face and he pulled off the blindfold, revealing Clint's hazy, wild eyes.

Clint was done. Absolutely done and out of it, soaking up the soft praises and touches that Phil gave him. Phil loved how limp and finished Clint was, feeling a smug satisfaction at having been the cause of that. Licking his hand clean, Phil told him that, saying how utterly debauch and hot Clint looked in between sucking his fingers spotless. Finished with that, he pulled himself over Clint's legs and bent down to lick up the mess around his groin. Clint moaned weakly at that, trying to focus on Phil and the way his tongue lapped up along his tired body.

By the time Phil reached Clint's face, Clint had enough cognitive functions to slur out, "Kiss meee."  Phil, impressed by his vocal skills, did just that, sharing Clint's taste with him until Phil was drunk on how Clint tasted and smelled and felt.

Breaking away, Phil murmured, "I'm keeping that promise, though. Next round, you're getting fucked thoroughly." Clint shuddered as his eyelids drooped, struggling to keep his focus on Phil.

Clint hummed happily and mumbled, "Keeping me." His eyes were losing their battle to stay open. Phil shifted off of Clint again, pulling Clint towards himself so that they were lying face to face, bodies pressed tightly together. Clint made another happy sound.

Phil smiled and kissed Clint again. "I'm keeping you forever. You're mine." Phil's arms circled Clint and held him even closer, pulling Clint's head to Phil's neck.

"Yours." Clint slurred out, sleep dragging him down. He sighed contently and went sleep-still against Phil.

Phil nodded against Clint, tipping his head back enough to bring a hand up to trace the hollows of his eyes.

"Mine. Forever. And I’m yours too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and kudoing! I live off of feedback, so thank you all so much for sticking with this story to the end :D You all rock.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you liked it! :D


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